and the girl usually wins. True lovers are as certain to return as
Bo-Peep's flock or a systematically deported cat. Shame-faced, but
surely, the man comes back.
Various laboratory note-books yield the same result. A single entry
indicates the general trend of the affair.
_MAN calls on GIRL after five weeks of unexplained absence. She asks no
questions, but keeps the conversation impersonal, even after he shows
symptoms of wishing to change its character._
MAN. (_Finally._) "I haven't seen you for an awfully long time."
GIRL. "Haven't you? Now that I think of it, it has been some time."
MAN. "How long has it been, I wonder?"
GIRL. "I haven't the least idea. Ten days or two weeks, I guess."
MAN. (_Hastily._) "Oh no, it's been much longer than that. Let's see,
it's"--(_makes great effort with memory_)--"why, it's five weeks! Five
weeks and three days! Don't you remember?"
GIRL. "I hadn't thought of it. It doesn't seem that long. How time does
fly, doesn't it!" (_Long silence._)
MAN. "I've been awfully busy. I wanted to come over, but I just
couldn't."
GIRL. "I've been very busy, too." (_Voluminous detail of her affairs
follows, entirely pleasant in character._)
MAN. (_Tenderly._) "Were you so busy you didn't miss me?"
GIRL. "Why, I can't say I missed you, exactly, but I always thought of
you pleasantly."
MAN. "Did you think of me often?"
GIRL. (_Laughing._) "I didn't keep any record of it. Do you want me to
cut a notch in the handle of my parasol every time I think of you? If
all my friends were so exacting, I'd have time for nothing else. I'd
need a new one every week and the house would be full of shavings. All
my fingers would be cut, too."
MAN. (_Unconsciously showing his hand._) "I thought you'd write me a
note."
[Sidenote: His Short Suit]
GIRL. (_Leading his short suit._) "You could have waited on your front
steps till the garbage man took you away, and I wouldn't have written
you any note."
MAN. (_With evident sincerity._) "That's no dream! I could do just
that!" (_Proposal follows in due course, MAN making full and complete
confession._)
If he is foolish enough to complicate his game with another girl, he
loses much more than he gains, for he lowers the whole affair to the
level of a flirtation, and destroys any belief the girl may have had in
him. He also forces her to do the same thing, in self-defence.
Flirtation is the only game in which it is advisable and popular to
trump one's partner's ace.
He who would win a woman must challenge her admiration, prove himself
worthy of her regard, appeal to her sympathy--and then wound her. She
is never wholly his until she realises that he has the power to make her
miserable as well as to make her happy, and that love is an infinite
capacity for suffering.
A man who does it consciously is apt to overdo it, out of sheer
enthusiasm, and if a girl suspects that it is done intentionally, the
hurt loses its sting and changes her love to bitterness. A succession of
attempts is also useless, for a man never hurts a woman twice in exactly
the same way. When he has run the range of possible stabs, she is out of
his reach--unless she is his wife.
[Sidenote: A State Secret]
The intentional absence scheme is too transparent to succeed, and
temporary devotion to another girl is definite damage to his cause, for
it indicates fickleness and instability. There is only one way by which
a man may discover his true position without asking any questions, and
that is--a state secret. Now and then a man strikes it by accident, but
nobody ever tells--even brothers or platonic friends.
Some men select a wife as they would a horse, paying due attention to
appearance, gait, disposition, age, teeth, and grooming. High spirits
and a little wildness are rather desirable than otherwise, if both are
young. Men who have had many horses or many wives and have grown old
with both, have a slight inclination toward sedate ways and domestic
traits.
[Sidenote: The "Woman's Column"]
Modern society makes it fully as easy to choose the one as the other. In
communities where the chaperone idea is at its prosperous zenith, a man
may see a girl under nearly all circumstances. The men who conduct the
"Woman's Column" in many pleasing journals are still writing of the
effect it has on a man to catch a girl in curl papers of a morning,
though curl papers have been obsolete for many and many a moon.
Cycling, golf, and kindred out-door amusements have been the death of
careless morning attire. Uncorseted woman is unhappy woman, and the girl
of whom the versatile journalist writes died long ago. Perhaps it is
because a newspaper man can write anything at four minutes' notice and
do it well, that the press fairly reeks with "advice to women."
The question, propounded in a newspaper column, "What Kind of a Girl
Does a Man Like Best," will bring out a voluminous symposium which adds
materially to the gaiety of the nation. It would be only fair to have
this sort of thing temporarily reversed--to tell men how to make home
happy for their wives and how to keep a woman's love, after it has once
been given.
Some clever newspaper woman might win everlasting laurels for herself if
she would contribute to this much neglected branch of human knowledge.
How is a man to know that a shirt-front which looks like a railroad map
diverts one's mind from his instructive remarks? How is he to know that
a cane is a nuisance when he fares forth with a girl? It is true that
sisters might possibly attempt this, but the modern sister is heavily
overworked at present and it is not kind to suggest an addition to her
cares.
[Sidenote: Neglected By His Kind]
There is no advice of any sort given to men except on the single subject
of choosing a wife. This is to be found only in the books in the
Sabbath-School library, or in occasional columns of the limited number
of saffron dailies which illuminate the age. Surely, man has been
neglected by his kind!
[Sidenote: Indecision]
The general masculine attitude indicates widespread belief in the
promise, "Ask, and ye shall receive." A man will tell his best friend
that he doesn't know whether to marry a certain girl. If she hears of
his indecision there is trouble ahead, if he finally decides in the
affirmative, and it is quite possible that he may not marry her.
After the door of a woman's heart has once swung on its silent hinges, a
man thinks he can prop it open with a brick and go away and leave it. A
storm is apt to displace the brick, however--and there is a heavy spring
on the door. Woe to the masculine finger that is in the way!
A man often hesitates between two young women and asks his friends which
he shall marry. Custom has permitted the courtship of both and neither
has the right to feel aggrieved, because it is exceedingly bad form for
a girl to love a man before he has asked her to.
Now and then a third girl is a man's confidante at this trying period.
Nothing so bores a person as to be a man's "guide, philosopher and
friend" in his perplexities with other girls. To one distinct class of
women men tell their troubles and the other class sees that they have
plenty to tell. It is better to be in the second category than in the
first.
Sooner or later, the confidante explains the whole affair to the
subjects of the confidence and strange, new kinds of trouble immediately
come to the rash man. It is a common failing to expect another person to
keep a secret which we have just proved is beyond our own capability.
[Sidenote: The Adamantine Fortress]
When a man has once deeply wounded a woman's pride, he may just as well
give up his hope of winning her. At that barrier, the little blind god
may plead in vain. Love's face may be sad, his big, sightless eyes soft
with tears, and his helpless hands outstretched in pleading and prayer,
but that stern sentinel will never yield. Wounded love is easily
forgiven, wounded belief sometimes forgotten, but wounded pride--never.
It is the adamantine fortress. There is only one path which leads to the
house of forgiveness--that of understanding, and it is impassable if
woman's pride has come between.
A girl never knows whether a courtship is in progress or not, unless a
man tells her. He may be interested and amused, but not in love. It is
only in the comic papers that a stern parent waits upon the continuous
caller and demands to know his "intentions," so a girl must, perforce,
be her own guide.
[Sidenote: The Continuous Caller]
A man may call upon a girl so constantly and so regularly that the
neighbours daily expect wedding invitations, and the family inquire why
he does not have his trunk sent to the house. Later, quite casually, he
will announce his engagement to a girl who is somewhere else. This
fiancée is always a peculiarly broad-minded girl who knows all about her
lover's attentions to the other and does not in the least object. She
wants him to "have a good time" when he is away from her, and he is
naturally anxious to please her. He wants the other girl to know his
wife--he is sure they will be good friends.
Lasting feminine friendships are not built upon foundations of that
kind. It is very unfortunate, for the world would be gladdened by many
more than now exist.
According to geometry, "things which are equal to the same thing are
equal to each other," and it would seem, from the standpoint of pure
reason, that people who are fond of the same people would naturally be
congenial and take pleasure in being together.
But a sensitive spinster is often grieved when she discovers that her
men friends do not readily assimilate. If she leaves two of them to
entertain each other, the conversation does not flow with desirable
spontaneity. There is no lack of courtesy between them, however, even of
that finer sort which keeps them both there, lest one, by leaving,
should seem to remind his companion that it was late.
On the contrary, if a man is fond of two different girls, they are
seldom to be seen apart. They exchange long visits regularly and this
thoughtfulness often saves him from making an extra call.
[Sidenote: A Happy Triumvirate]
A happy triumvirate is thus formed and the claws of it do not show.
Sometimes it is hard to decide between them, and he cuts the Gordian
knot by marrying someone else, but the friendship is never the same
afterward. The girls are no longer boon companions and when the man
crosses their paths, they manage to convey the impression of great
distance.
[Sidenote: Narrowed Down to Two]
In the beginning, almost any number may join in the game, but the
inevitable process of selection eventually narrows it down to two.
Society has given men a little the best of it, but perhaps woman's finer
sight compensates her for the apparent disadvantages--and even Love, who
deals the cards, is too blind to see the fatal consequences of his
mistakes.
The Natural History of Proposals
[Illustration]
The Natural History of Proposals
[Sidenote: The Inquiring Spinster]
There is no subject which presents more difficulties to the inquiring
spinster. Contemporary spinsters, when approached upon the topic, are
anything but encouraging; apparently lacking the ability to distinguish
between impertinent intrusion into their personal affairs and the
scientific spirit which prompts the collection of statistics.
Married women, when asked to repeat the exact language of the lover at
the happy moment, are wont to transfix the sensitive aspirant for
knowledge with lofty scorn. Mothers are accustomed to dissemble and say
they "have forgotten." Men in general are uncommunicative, though
occasionally some rare soul will expand under the influence of food and
freely give more valuable information than can be extracted from an
indefinite number of women.
One's own experience is naturally limited, even though proposals
constitute the main joy and excitement of the spinster's monotonous
life. Emerson says: "All is sour if seen as experience," though the
gentle sage was not referring especially to offers of marriage.
Nevertheless, there is a charm about other people's affairs which would
render life beautiful indeed if it could be added to one's own.
Nothing strengthens a woman's self-confidence like a proposal. One is a
wonder, two a superfluity, and three an epidemic. Four are proof of
unusual charm, five go to the head, and it is a rare girl whom six or
seven will not permanently spoil.
[Sidenote: Disillusion]
To the girl fed upon fiction, the first proposal comes in the nature of
a shock. Disillusion follows as a matter of course. Men, evidently, do
not read fiction, or at least do not profit by the valuable hints to be
found in any novel.
A small book entitled: _How Men Propose_, was eagerly sought by young
women who were awaiting definite experience. This was discovered to be a
collection of proposals carefully selected from fiction. It was done
with care and discernment, but was not satisfying. The natural
inference was that the actual affairs were just like those in the book.
[Sidenote: "In Books?"]
Nothing can exceed the grace and tenderness with which men propose--in
books. Such chivalrous worship, such pleasing deference is accorded--in
books! Such pretty pleading, such knightly vows of eternal allegiance,
as are always found--in books!
The hero of a few years back was wont to make his offer on his knees. He
also haunted the home of the beloved maiden, deeming himself well repaid
for five hours wait if he had a fleeting glimpse of her at the window.
Torn hair was frequent, and refusal drove men to suicide and madness.
The young women who were the cause of all this trouble were never more
than eighteen or twenty years of age. Mature spinsters of twenty-five
figured as envious deterrents in the happy affair. Many a story-book
marriage has been spoiled by the jealousy of the wrinkled rival of
twenty-five.
[Sidenote: The First Proposal]
The violent protestations of the lover in the novel were indeed
something to be awaited with fear and trembling. With her anticipations
aroused by this kind of reading and her eagerness whetted by
interminable years of waiting, Mademoiselle receives her first offer of
marriage.
She is in doubt, at first, as to whether it is a proposal. It seems like
some dreadful mistake. Where is the courtly manner of the lover in the
book? What is the matter with this red-faced boy? Where is the pretty
pleading, the gracious speech? Why should a lover stammer and confuse
his verbs?
Mademoiselle recoils in disgust. This, then, is what she has been
waiting for. It is not at all like the book. Her lover is entirely
different from other girls' lovers--so different that he is pathetic.
Her faith in the gospel of romance is sadly shaken, when the next
experience is a great deal like the first. No one, in the book, could
doubt the lover's meaning. Yet in the halting sentences and confused
metaphors of actual experience, there is sometimes much question as to
what he really means. A girl often has to ask a man if he has just
proposed to her, that she may accept or refuse, in a gracious and proper
way.
[Sidenote: The Ordeal]
In a girl's early ideas on the subject, she has much sympathy for the
man who has to undergo the ordeal of asking a woman to be his wife. She
thinks he must contemplate the momentous step for weeks, await the
opportunity with expectant terror, and when his lady is in a happy mood,
recite with fear and trembling, the proposal which he has written out
and learned, appropriately enough, by heart.
Later, she comes to know that after the first few times, men propose as
thoughtlessly and easily as they dress for dinner, that they devote no
particular study to the art, that constant practice makes them
proficient, and that almost any girl will do when the proposal mood is
on.
She discovers that they often do it simply to make a pleasing impression
upon a girl, with no thought of acceptance. Many an engagement is more
of a surprise to the man than to anybody else.
Because fiction comes very near to the heart of woman, she invariably
follows its dictates and shows great astonishment at every proposal. The
women who have been thus surprised are even more rare than days in
June.
[Sidenote: The False and the True]
When a man begins to compare a girl to a flower, a baby, or a kitten,
she knows what is coming next. She spends her mental energy in
distinguishing the false from the true--which is sufficient employment
for anyone. There is not enough cerebral tissue to waste much of it upon
unnecessary processes.
It is very hard to tell whether a man really means a proposal. It may
have been made under romantic circumstances, or because he was lonesome
for the other girl, or, in the case of an heiress, because he was tired
of work. Longing for the absent sweetheart will frequently cause a man
to become engaged to someone near by, because, though absence may make a
woman's heart grow fonder, it is presence that plays the mischief with a
man. No wise girl would accept a man who proposed by moonlight or just
after a meal. The dear things aren't themselves then.
Food, properly served, will attract a proposal at almost any time,
especially if it is known that the pleasing viands were of the girl's
own making. Cooking and love may seem at first glance to be widely
separated, but no woman can have one without the other. The brotherly
love for all creation, which emanates from the well-fed man, overflows,
concentrates, and naturally becomes a proposal.
[Sidenote: Written Proposals]
Other things being equal, a written proposal is apt to be genuine,
especially if it is signed with the full name and address of the writer,
and the date is not omitted. Long and painful experience in the courts
of his country has made man wary of direct evidence.
But a written proposal is extremely bad form. A girl never can be sure
that her lover did not attempt to fish it out of the letter-box after it
had slipped from his fingers. The author of _How to Be Happy, Though
Married_, once saw a miserable young man attempting to get his
convicting letter back by means of a forked stick. The sight must be
quite common everywhere. Proposing in haste and repenting at leisure is
not by any means unusual.
Then, too, a girl misses a possible opportunity of seeing a man blush
and stammer. One does not often get a chance to see a man willingly
making himself ridiculous, and the spectacle is worth waiting for.
[Sidenote: Confusion and Awkwardness]
Confusion and awkwardness are high trumps with a woman, for they
indicate inexperience and uncertainty. The man who proposes in a
finished and nonchalant manner, as if he had done it frequently and were
sure of the result, is now and then astonished at a refusal. It is also
a risk to offer a ring immediately after acceptance. The suspicion is
that the ring has been worn before, or else the man was sure enough of
the girl to invest heavily in his future.
Sometimes a man will disclose to a platonic friend the form he
habitually employs in proposals. The hero of battle engagements has
proverbial charm for woman, and the hero of matrimonial engagements is
meat and drink to the spinster athirst for knowledge.
Feed the man, and when the brotherly love for the entire universe begins
to radiate, approach him gently upon the subject.
"Why, bless your little heart," the man will say, "of course I'll tell
you about it. Yes, you're right in supposing that I know more about it
than anyone else you know. I've never been refused in my life and I
know I've asked a hundred. I've had medals for that.
"I always try to make each one different," he will continue. "Girls
sometimes compare notes and it makes it awkward. The girl I'm engaged to
now doesn't know any of my other girls, though, so I'm safe enough.
[Sidenote: "One of the Best Proposals"]
"I'll never forget the way I did that. I think it was one of the best
proposals I ever made. She's a mighty pretty little thing,--blue eyes
and black hair,--a regular Irish type. I must tell you first, though,
how I came to know her.
"The one I was engaged to just before I asked her, had just broken it
off on account of property which her children would lose if she married
again. She was a widow, you know. I've told you about her--the one with
red hair. Between you and me, that's the only woman in God's world my
heart ever went out to. That is the love of my life. Her little girl,
eleven years old, was in love with me, too. She used to tremble when I
kissed her, and was jealous of her mother. But this little girl I'm
engaged to now, why I just love the ground she walks on.
[Sidenote: "A Very Peculiar Affair"]
"Well," after a pause, "this was a very peculiar affair. Of course I was
all broken up over losing her--couldn't eat nor sleep--I was a perfect
wreck. This old friend of mine happened along, and he says, 'You'll have
to brace up, old man. Come on out to my house in the country and rest up
a bit.' So I went, and met his daughter.
"Five days after I met her, I asked him for her hand. I explained it to
him just as I would to my own father, and he understood all right. He's
a fine fellow. He said I could have her. Of course I'd asked her first.
"Yes--I'm getting to that. I took her out for a walk one afternoon, and
when we came to the river, we sat down to talk. It was a perfect day. I
began by saying how sad it was to see a beautiful flower and to know
that it was out of one's reach, or to see anything beautiful and know
that one never could possess it. I led up to the subject by gentle
degrees, and then I said: 'You must have seen that I love you, and you
know without my telling you, that I want you to be my wife. I don't say
I want you to marry me, because I want you to do more than that--I want
you to be my wife.' (Fine distinction that!)
"Well, she was very much surprised, of course, but she accepted me all
right. Yes, I told her about the other woman, but in such a way that she
understood it perfectly. Lots of other fellows wanted her and I snatched
the prize from right under their very noses. I don't suppose I'll ever
propose any more now. I'd never propose to you, even if I were free to
do so, because I know you'd refuse me. You'd refuse me, wouldn't you?
Somebody else might just as well have me, if you don't want me."
[Sidenote: In Spite of Varied Resources]
Yet in spite of the varied resources at woman's command, we sometimes
hear of one who yearns for the privilege of seeking man in marriage. The
woman who longs for the right to propose is evidently not bright enough
to bring a man to the point.
Still worse than this, there are cases on record where women, not
reigning queens, have actually proposed to men. The men who are thus
sought in the bonds of matrimony are not slow to tell of it, confining
themselves usually to their own particular circle of men friends. But
the news sometimes filters through man's capacity to keep a secret, and
the knowledge is diffused among interested spinsters.
[Sidenote: Hints]
What men term "hints" are not out of place, for the proposal market
would be less active, were it not for "hints." But these are seldom
given in words--unless a man happens to be particularly stupid.
When the proposal habit is not firmly fastened upon a man, and he begins
to have serious designs upon some one girl, she knows it long before he
does. Incidentally, the family and the neighbours have their suspicions.
Woman, with her strong dramatic instinct, wishes the proposal to occur
according to accepted rules. Hence, if a man shows symptoms of
whispering the momentous question in a crowd, he is apt to be delicately
discouraged, and if the girl is not satisfied with her own appearance,
there will also be postponement. No girl wants to be proposed to when
her hair is dishevelled, her collar wilted, and her soul distraught by
pestiferous mosquitoes.
But an ambitious and painstaking girl will arrange the stage for a
proposal, with untiring patience, months before it actually happens.
When she practices assiduously all the morning, that she may execute
difficult passages with apparent ease in the evening, and willingly
turns the freezer that there may be cooling ice opportunely left after
dinner, to "melt if somebody doesn't eat it," she expects something to
happen.