"Well," protested the widow, studying the toe of her slipper, "it is a satisfaction to know you've got your husband fastened on straight by his promises and held in place by his vows and that he loves you enough to——"
"Usually," interrupted the bachelor, "a man loves you in inverse ratio to his protestations. The lover who promises all things without reserve is too often like the fellow who doesn't question the hotel bill nor ask the price of the wine, because he doesn't intend to pay it anyway. The fellow who is prodigal with vows and promises and poetry is generally the one to whom such things mean nothing and, being of no value, can be flung about generously to every girl he meets. The firm with the biggest front office is likely to be the one with the smallest deposit in the safe. The man who swears off loudest on New Year's is usually the one they have to carry home the morning after. And the chap who promises a girl a life of roses is the one who will let her pick all the thorns off for herself."
"Perhaps," sighed the widow, chewing the stem of a violet thoughtfully, "the best way to cure a man of a taste for anything, after all, is to let him have too much of it, instead of making him swear off. If you want him to hate the smell of a pipe insist on his smoking one all the time. If you want him to sign the temperance pledge serve him wine with every course. If you want him to hate a woman invite her to meet him every time he calls, and tell him how 'suitable' she would be."
"And if you want him to love you," finished the bachelor, "don't ask him to swear it, but tell him that he really ought not to. The best way to manage a donkey—human or otherwise—is to turn his head in the wrong direction, and he'll back in the right one."
"Then," said the widow decisively, "we ought to begin the New Year by making some irresolutions."
"Some—what?"
"Vows that we won't stop doing the things we ought not to do," explained the widow.
"All right," agreed the bachelor thoughtfully, "I'll make an irresolution to go on making love to you as much as I like."
"You mean as much as I like, Mr. Travers," corrected the widow severely.
"How much do you like?" asked the bachelor, leaning over to look into the widow's eyes.