“No,” said my companion, as the train dashed on, “it is not true
that men love but once. I believe that a man loves more sensibly and
truly after he has had two or three infatuations and suffered as many
disappointments. I believe, too, it is the same with the sensible woman,
only she sometimes does not have the opportunity to love so often as a
man.
“The other day I met an old sweetheart on the train in company with her
mother. Once I would have married the woman, for I thought she was the
only one in the world, but her mother objected to the match. My blood
wasn’t blue enough. She was a good, warm-hearted girl, but she lacked
courage. Had she been a girl of spirit, she would have married me in
spite of all opposition. But she gave me up and broke her own heart over
the affair.
“I’ll admit that I was pretty well broken up at first, but my pride
came to my rescue. I made up my mind that I needed a wife of more
individuality and character, and I soon found her. In a little while I
was deeper in love than ever before. She was brighter, deeper and more
resolute. Her parents objected at first to her choice, but she told them
it was not they who were making the match. She said if a girl had no
choice in selecting a husband, the natural selection of sex was ignored,
and love was seen only from a financial view.
“Honest and true, I believe now it would have been very unfortunate had
the first sweetheart married me, though I believe I could have loved her
always, had her mother not broken up the match. Truly, I believe her life
has been blighted by that disappointment. She never married. Perhaps
she never had another chance. I do not know. They are poor now, and her
mother has lost much of her pride. She has confessed lately that she made
a mistake when she broke up Mary’s love affair.
“The day I met them on the train they were going to ignore my presence,
but I would not have it that way. I respect them too much to drop
absolutely out of their world. I simply took a seat behind them and
called their attention to my presence. It was the first time in twenty
years we had met. The mother was greatly confused at first, and Mary
blushed like a school girl; but after the ice was broken, we had a very
pleasant two hours’ ride. Mary asked all about my wife and children, and
expressed a desire to see them.
“I pitied the woman I once loved, for she looked very unhappy and
discontented with life. Her mother is growing quite feeble and she is
devoting her life to her parents. I pitied her. This was all there was
left of my love. As I looked at the disappointed woman, I thought of how
I once held her in my arms and we both swore eternal loyalty to each
other. How we had lied to each other. She cast me off as a duty and I
forgot her in retaliation. How foolish it would be then to cork ourselves
up and never love another.
“Once she was the idol of all my youthful dreams, the queen of my
children. Now I love another woman more fondly than I ever loved before,
because she is worthy of it. She gave up home and friends for me, and
proved her great love for me, and, after all, this is the true test of
our love. A man can’t long love a woman who has not the courage to love
him in spite of the oppositions of friends. She sinks out of sight and
some one else is sure to take her place, if he only waits. There is no
occasion to commit suicide if jilted by one woman. She never was worthy
of the fellow’s love, or she would not have jilted him. She never loved
him. The woman who loves a man truly will give up all the world for him.
“Still, I pity Mary. I would feel just a little more happy if she were
married to a good man. A man can’t help but pity any woman he once loved,
if he thinks her unhappy. His mind will insist on going back occasionally
to the days when that woman was the only woman in the world to him; when
it might have ended just as he had dreamed. It might have been otherwise
than it has turned out to be. His present love is a flower of a later
growth, even though of sweeter odor.”