How curious the things that appeal to this lord of creation, Man!—a half-averted face—a laughing gesture—a merry eye—an all but imperceptible tone of the voice—the scarce felt touch of a reluctant hand—a semi-tender phrase—an unexpected glance—the momentary pressure of petulant lips—a blanched cheek—a look prolonged one fractional part of a second beyond its wont—an infinitesimal drooping of the eyelid—a speaking silence—a half-caught sigh—these will entrap the male brute where green widths that were never dried will not hold him. But
By what men are won, most women seem thoroughly to comprehend.
By what women are won, few men know. Perhaps
No woman knows by what she herself is won.
One thing there is, at all events, to which woman will always succumb: tenderness. But remember, Dames, that
Tenderness is extremely difficult of simulation. Or rather,
Tenderness is so delicate and deep-seated a feeling, that few care to attempt its simulation.
* * *
A woman who gives herself too freely is apt to regret the giving. In time, too, she discovers that, as a matter of fact,
No woman can give her real self twice: one or other gift will prove to be a loan. (And