Were it not for the stern parents and wholesome laws as to age, girls might more often marry their first loves.  It is difficult to conjecture what the state of civilisation might be, if it were common for people to marry their first loves, regardless of “age, colour, or previous condition of servitude.”

[Sidenote:  Age and Colour]

Age and colour are all-important factors with Mademoiselle.  She could not possibly love a boy three weeks younger than herself, and if her eyes are blue and her hair light, no blondes need apply.

There is a curious delusion, fostered by phrenologists and other amiable students of “temperament,” to the effect that a brunette must infallibly fall in love with a blonde and vice versa.  What dire misfortune may result if this rule is not followed can be only surmised, for the phrenologists do not know.  Still, the majority of men are dark and it is said they do not marry as readily as of yore—­is this the secret of the widespread havoc made by peroxide of hydrogen?

The lurid fiction fever soon runs its course with Mademoiselle, if she is let alone, and she turns her attention once more to her schoolmates.  She has at least a dozen serious attacks before she is twenty, and at that ripe age, is often a little blase.

[Sidenote:  The Pastime and the Dream]

But the day soon comes when the pretty play is over and the soft eyes widen with fear.  She passes the dividing line between childhood and womanhood when she first realises that her pastime and her dream have forged chains around her inmost soul.  This, then, is what life holds for her; it is ecstasy or torture, and for this very thing she was made.

Some man exists whom she will follow to the end of the world, right royally if she may, but on her knees if she must.  The burning sands of the desert will be as soft grass if he walks beside her, his voice will make her forget her thirst, and his touch upon her arm will change her weariness into peace.

When he beckons she must answer.  When he says “come,” she must not stay.  She must be all things to him—­friend, comrade, sweetheart, wife.  When the infinite meaning of her dream slowly dawns upon her, is it strange that she trembles and grows pale?

Soon or late it comes to all.  Sometimes there is terror at the sudden meeting and Love often comes in the guise of a friend.  But always, it brings joy which is sorrow, and pain which is happiness—­gladness which is never content.

A woman wants a man to love her in the way she loves him; a man wants a woman to love him in the way he loves her, and because the thing is impossible, neither is satisfied.

[Sidenote:  The Strongest Passion]

Man’s emotion is far stronger than woman’s.  His feeling, when it is deep, is a force which a woman may but dimly understand.  The strongest passion of a man’s life is his love for his sweetheart; woman’s greatest love is lavished upon her child.