I never can blame people who refuse to accept an apology in the shape of flowers when the wound has been given in words.  The whole of Europe would not compensate some women for a hurt, when the hurt had been distinctly worded and the apology came in the shape of a dumb, voiceless present.

From the standpoint of observation and inexperience, I would say that the supremest lack of men as lovers is the inability to say, “I am sorry, dear; forgive me.”  And to keep on saying it until the hurt is entirely gone.  You gave her the deep wound.  Be manly enough to stay by it until it has healed.  Men will go to any trouble, any expense, any personal inconvenience, to heal it without the simple use of those simple words.  A man thinks if a woman begins to smile at him again after a hurt, for which he has not yet apologized, has commenced to grow dull, that the worst is over, and that, if he keeps away from the dangerous subject, he has done his duty.  Besides, hasn’t he given her a piano to pay for it?  But that same man would call another man a brute who insisted upon healing up a finger with the splinter still in it, so that an accidental pressure would always cause pain.

If you do not believe this, what do you suppose the result would be if you should apologize to your wife for something you said last year.  If you think she has forgotten, because she never speaks of it, just try it once.

I honestly believe that the simple phrase, “I am sorry, dear; forgive me,” has done more to hold brothers in the home, to endear sisters to each other, to comfort mothers and fathers, to tie friends together, to placate lovers; that more marriages have taken place because of them, and more have held together on account of them; that more love of all kinds has been engendered by them than by any other words in the English language.

GIRLS AND OTHER GIRLS

 “Thou art so very sweet and fair,
    With such a heaven in thine eyes,
  It almost seems an over-care
    To ask thee to be good or wise.

 “As if a little bird were blamed
    Because its song unthinking flows;
  As if a rose should be ashamed
    Of being nothing but a rose.”

* * * * *

* * * * *

 “It is so hard for Shrewdness to admit
  Folly means no harm when she calls black white.”

People who criticise the grammar of those young girls who say “I don’t think,” should have a care.  For it is more true than incorrect.  Most girls don’t think.

But there are two kinds of girls—­girls under twenty-five and others.

Of course, although you may not know it, age has no more to do with that statement than it had to do with the one when I hinted that man reached the ripe state of perfection at the mystic age of thirty-five.  These are but approximate figures, and are only for use in general practice.  They have no bearing on specific cases, when it is always best to call in a specialist.