Confessions are but the soothing syrup wherewith he stilleth his conscience. And his sins would lack much joy if he had not the pleasure of “regretting” them.
But I say unto thee, a woman’s faith is like unto a cobweb which cannot be patched up, once it hath been shattered; and a woman’s heart is not as a rubber ball, which reboundeth after it hath been cast down.
Nay, a bride sobbeth “Harold, tell me all!”
But after ten years, a wife saith, “Do whatsoever thou pleasest, but come not unto me with thy tale of woe. Lo, I am aweary of holding onto Heaven with one hand and onto thee with the other. Therefore go thy ways and let me sleep!”
Verily, verily, in time, doth a man’s penitence pall upon a woman; and his kiss of remorse is more to be dreaded than his sins.
For, once love hath cooled, it may be warmed-over, yet it is flat and tasteless, even as a Monday luncheon.
CHAPTER FIVE
My Daughter, observe my counsel, for the heart of a man is like unto a Broadway car, in which there is always room for one more.
Behold, in matters of love, a woman is a specialist, but a man is a general practitioner. Yea, a woman loveth but one type—even one man—but a man loveth anything which happeneth to be at hand.