The battle of love-making would be an unequal combat, even were both contestants fully panoplied; for,
A woman's derision will pierce any mail. In fact,
No armor is impervious to woman's shafts—be they those of laughter or be they those of love. So
The veriest roué' is vulnerable to the veriest maid. But
For each man she meets, a woman carries in her quiver but one shaft. If that misses its aim, she is powerless: it is like a dart without a thong; when thrown, the man can close. But
Always it devolves upon the man to take the initiative. But, again,
Always the man must pretend that he takes no initiative. But, again,
Always the woman must pretend that she gives no opportunity.
The game of love is not only one of chance but one of skill. What irks man is that a woman pretends that she must be circumvented by wiles. But
Man was ever a clumsy wooer. Nevertheless,