A woman was at a performance of the tragedy of Mérope, and did not weep: surprise was expressed. “I could cry my eyes out,” she said, “but I have to go out to supper to-night.”
A young man was advised to ask a woman of forty, with whom he had been head over ears in love, to return his letters. “I don’t suppose she has them any longer,” he said. “Oh yes,” was the reply, “about the age of thirty women begin to keep their love letters.”
“He who has not seen much of demi-mondaines does not understand women at all,” gravely remarked to me a fond admirer of his own wife, who was unfaithful to him.
I remember to have seen a man forsaking the society of ballet girls because, so he said, he had found them as deceitful as honest women.
Someone remarked of a lady who was not venal, followed her heart’s promptings, and remained faithful to the object of her choice, “She is a charming woman and lives as virtuously as is possible outside marriage and celibacy.”