That poor Hephaestus!  The net was an ingenious device, and a pretty piece of workmanship, but—­it didn’t answer.

In despite of Mrs. Ellis, there are women whose mission it is not to be good housewives; they can’t be useful if they would, any more than May-flies can spin silk.  Like them, they can attract fish (and sometimes get snapped up if they go too close), that’s all.  If you marry them, you must accept them as they are, and take your chance.  Be generous, then, and don’t stop their waltzing.  I believe there may be flirting without the most distant idea of criminality—­fencing with wooden foils, where no blood is drawn.

A lady was asked the other day “what she did when an admirer became too lover-like.”  Her answer was, “I never had such a case.”  I think she spoke the truth; yet she was a coquette renowned through a good part of two hemispheres.

As for the doubts and fears of the other sex, the subject is too vast for me.  To the end of time there will be Deianiras (with imaginary Ioles), Zaras, and Mrs. Caudles.  Tragedy and comedy have tried in vain to frighten or to laugh them out of the indulgence of the fatal passion, that wreaks itself indiscriminately on the beat and the worst, the youngest and the oldest, the simplest and the most guileful of adult males.  Let us not attempt to argue, then, but, wrapping ourselves in our virtue, endure as best we may the groundless reproaches and accusations of our ox-eyed Junos.

We did Venice very severely, with the exception of Forrester, who, after strolling once through the Palace of the Doges (a pilgrimage interrupted by many halts and profuse lamentations), declined seeing any thing more than what he could view from his gondola.  I never saw any one so completely at home in that most delicious of conveyances.  His Venetian friends encouraged and sympathized with him in his laziness, and pitied him with eyes and words, forever being teased about it.  Indeed, he was generally left alone; but one day we were landing to see a church of great repute, and Miss Devereux made a strong appeal to him to follow her.  She was a handsome, clever girl, a great favorite of Charley’s.  I believe they used to quarrel and make it up again about six times in every twenty-four hours.  We saw that it was hopeless, but she was obstinate enough to try and persuade him.

“Now, Captain Forrester, you must come.  I have set my heart upon it.”

He lifted his long eyelashes in a languid satisfaction.  “Thank you very much; I like people to be interested about me; but you see it’s simply impossible.  Look at Rinaldo; there’s a sensible example for you.  He doesn’t mean to stir till he is obliged to do so.”  The handsome gondolier had already couched, to enjoy a bask in the sun, which was blazing fiercely down on his brown face and magnificent black hair.

“There is the most perfect Titian,” she persisted.

“No use.  I should not appreciate it,” he replied.  “I have been through a gallery with you before.  It’s a delusion and a snare.  I never looked at a single picture.  The canvas won’t stand the comparison.”