"Do it, Sheldon—she's going to need all the friends she has—most of the women will side with Lorraine, you know."
"That is what makes me so strong the other way," declared Burgoyne.
"Added to the fact that you're not married. If you had a wife to consult, the chances are you would either think differently—or not think. The unfortunate thing is, the men will have little or nothing to say about it. It is the women that Stephanie has to placate, and she has anything but a rosy path cut out for her, I'm afraid. We men don't understand woman—we never have understood her and we never shall. We see only the surface of her nature—that is all she ever permits us to see—and it is very pleasant to look upon. Under the surface, however, is hidden a fund of petty meannesses, which she reserves exclusively for her own sex. She knows better than to vent them on us—we wouldn't tolerate it for a moment."
"Are you speaking generally or with specific reference to Stephanie Lorraine?" queried Burgoyne.
"Both. It is a general proposition applied to a specific instance."
"Aren't you a bit hard on the women?" Burgoyne asked.
"I think not—but I don't ask you to believe me. If you're happier not to believe, all right. Every man to his experience and what it teaches him."
"Has your experience taught you any such doctrine?"
"My experience, together with my observation, has taught me all of that and much more. The trouble is I don't follow it. I can't withstand the feminine fascination and charm—nor my fondness for their society and so on. I'm a good deal like the fellow who couldn't resist the alluringly beautiful color of the red-hot iron and grabbed it with bare hands instead of with tongs."
"You advise me, then, to go after Miss Emerson with tongs?" laughed Burgoyne.