we are a little more grown up, we too may
begin to understand the reason for our living.

ON THE CARE AND MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN

I talked to a woman once on the subject of honeymoons. I said, "Would
you recommend a long honeymoon, or a Saturday to Monday somewhere?"
A silence fell upon her. I gathered she was looking back rather than
forward to her answer.

"I would advise a long honeymoon," she replied at length, "the
old-fashioned month."

"Why," I persisted, "I thought the tendency of the age was to cut these
things shorter and shorter."

"It is the tendency of the age," she answered, "to seek escape from many
things it would be wiser to face. I think myself that, for good or evil,
the sooner it is over--the sooner both the man and the woman know--the
better."

"The sooner what is over?" I asked.

If she had a fault, this woman, about which I am not sure, it was an
inclination towards enigma.

She crossed to the window and stood there, looking out.

"Was there not a custom," she said, still gazing down into the wet,
glistening street, "among one of the ancient peoples, I forget which,
ordaining that when a man and woman, loving one another, or thinking
that they loved, had been joined together, they should go down upon
their wedding night to the temple? And into the dark recesses of the
temple, through many winding passages, the priest led them until they
came to the great chamber where dwelt the voice of their god. There the
priest left them, clanging-to the massive door behind him, and there,
alone in silence, they made their sacrifice; and in the night the Voice
spoke to them, showing them their future life--whether they had chosen
well; whether their love would live or die. And in the morning the
priest returned and led them back into the day; and they dwelt among
their fellows. But no one was permitted to question them, nor they
to answer should any do so. Well, do you know, our nineteenth-century
honeymoon at Brighton, Switzerland, or Ramsgate, as the choice or
necessity may be, always seems to me merely another form of that night
spent alone in the temple before the altar of that forgotten god. Our
young men and women marry, and we kiss them and congratulate them; and,
standing on the doorstep, throw rice and old slippers, and shout good
wishes after them; and he waves his gloved hand to us, and she flutters
her little handkerchief from the carriage window; and we watch their
smiling faces and