“Woman gives and woman takes away,” I said to myself. “But she takes more than she gives!” I felt indeed bankrupt.
Opening my journal and glancing back over rose-tinted, deluded eulogies, I came to the interrupted entry, “To d'Haricot from d'Haricot.” Ah, that I had profited by my own advice! “Foolish friend, beware!”—but he had not.
I took up my pen and continued the exhortation.
“What is woman? A false coin that passes current only with fools! Art thou a fool, then? No longer!”
Just then came a tap at the door, followed by the comely' face of Aramatilda.
“A lady to see you, sir,” she said.
I started. Could it be—? Impossible!