Now I want to discuss the two possibilities which I told you last time must be for another letter. The first one was, supposing that you find yourself at the end of the first year
or two utterly disillusioned and disgusted—what then is best to be done? Look the whole situation carefully in the face, and see what roads will lead to better or worse conditions. Above all, do not be dramatic. The ineradicable, insatiable dramatic instinct in some women has caused them, for the pleasure they unconsciously take in a “scene,” to ruin their own and their husbands’ lives. Men are not dramatic: they do not “make scenes”—they loathe them; they loathe exhibitions of emotion which, nine times out of ten, do not occur until some action of their own provokes them, the action having proved that their interest in their wives is going off. The wise woman instantly appreciates this point, and knows that, if she gives way to her, perhaps just, reproaches, she will be adding another millstone round her own neck in a further weakening of her attraction for, and influence over, the man. The wise woman makes quite sure that the matter which has annoyed her is really important—she banishes it if not, and, if it is, she states her case quietly and with dignity, so that her husband can answer her without heat, and give her explanations—or excuses.
She must never forget that the momentary relief and satisfaction of indulging her anger is but a poor consolation when it has produced resentment and repulsion in her husband’s mind—even if, as in the case of our present argument, she herself no longer cares for him. Whatever the man has done, she ought to say or do nothing which can make him feel less respect for herself in return.
If you can keep in front of you always that basic principle which I explained in my first letter, it will guide you on all occasions, and, if you are disillusioned and disgusted with your husband, it will suggest the finest course for you to take. Try to be just, do not repine, admit to yourself that you have lost the first prize in the lottery of marriage, but that there is still the second to be obtained, namely, an unassailable position, your husband’s respect, perhaps the interest in possible children, the interest in your life and your place in the world. And, above all, that inward peace which comes from the knowledge that you at least on your side are keeping up the dignity of your name and station.
You may say all this would be but a very second best, when love had been shipwrecked. I fully admit it, but it is more advisable to obtain the second best than the tenth—or to go under altogether.
Accept the fact that such happiness as you had hoped for is not for you, and decide to be a noble woman and do your duty. Reflection will tell you that whatever you sow you will reap, so, if this misfortune should come to you, keep your head, Caroline, and use your common sense.