* * *

In spite of the poesy of love, deeds are more potent than words; —­though perhaps it is well to pave the way for the one by the other.

In spite, too of the piety of love, love laughs at promises—­that is, the promises that affect it.

* * *

There is one miracle that women can always perform, and always it astonishes the man; it is this:  to change from the recipient into the appellant.  That is to say,

When woman, usually regarded as the receiver, becomes the giver,—­or rather the demander,—­man’s wonderment surpasses words.  And let it be remembered that

There is no re-crossing this Rubicon.

* * *

Mistrust a prolonged and obdurate resistance.  Either you are out-classed, or you are out-experienced.  And, besides,

Surrender after prolonged resistance rarely is brought about by emotion.

* * *

A woman never really quite detests daring.  This is why
Much is a forgiving a daring man.  So, too,

Much is forgiven a pretty woman -by the men.

* * *

If the beginning of strife is as when one letteth out water, the beginning of love is as when one kindleth a fire.

* * *

The eye tells more than the tongue.  And

If the eye and the tongue contradict each other, believe the eye.

* * *

There is an indifference that attracts, and there is an indifference that repels.  He is a sagacious man, and she is a sagacious woman, who will differentiate them.  The question resolves itself into that which so often puzzles the angler,—­how much line to let out.  About one thing there need be no hesitation,

When your fish is within reach, be quick with the landing-net—­or even with the gaff.

* * *

In the matter of wooing, soon enough does the young girl learn to prefer the mature manners of the man of the world to the gaucheries of inexperienced youth.  As to the man!

How curious the things that appeal to this lord of creation, Man!—­a half-averted face—­a laughing gesture—­a merry eye—­an all but imperceptible tone of the voice—­the scarce felt touch of a reluctant hand—­a semi-tender phrase—­an unexpected glance—­the momentary pressure of petulant lips—­a blanched cheek—­a look prolonged one fractional part of a second beyond its wont—­an infinitesimal drooping of the eyelid—­a speaking silence—­a half-caught sigh—­these will entrap the male brute where green widths that were never dried will not hold him.  But

By what men are won, most women seem thoroughly to comprehend.

By what women are won, few men know.  Perhaps

No woman knows by what she herself is won.

One thing there is, at all events, to which woman will always succumb:  tenderness.  But remember, Dames, that

Tenderness is extremely difficult of simulation.  Or rather,