t
who is not in love, or is only slightly amorous, will still think of
marriage. How will he think of it?

I will tell you. In the first place, if he has reached the age of
thirty unscathed by Aphrodite, he will reflect that that peculiar
feeling of romantic expectation with which he gets up every morning
would cease to exist after marriage--and it is a highly agreeable
feeling! In its stead, in moments of depression, he would have the
feeling of having done something irremediable, of having definitely
closed an avenue for the outlet of his individuality. (Kindly remember
that I am not describing what this human man ought to think. I am
describing what he does think.) In the second place, he will reflect
that, after marriage, he could no longer expect the charming welcomes
which bachelors so often receive from women; he would be "done with"
as a possibility, and he does not relish the prospect of being done
with as a possibility. Such considerations, all connected more or
less with the loss of "freedom" (oh, mysterious and thrilling word!),
will affect his theoretical attitude. And be it known that even the
freedom to be lonely and melancholy is still freedom.

Other ideas will suggest themselves. One morning while brushing his
hair he will see a gray hair, and, however young he may be, the
anticipation of old age will come to him. A solitary old age! A
senility dependent for its social and domestic requirements on
condescending nephews and nieces, or even more distant relations!
Awful! Unthinkable! And his first movement, especially if he has read
that terrible novel, "_Fort comme la Mort_," of De Maupassant, is to
rush out into the street and propose to the first girl he encounters,
in order to avoid this dreadful nightmare of a solitary old age. But
before he has got as far as the doorstep he reflects further. Suppose
he marries, and after twenty years his wife dies and leaves him a
widower! He will still have a solitary old age, and a vastly more
tragical one than if he had remained single. Marriage is not,
therefore, a sure remedy for a solitary old age; it may intensify the
evil. Children? But suppose he doesn't have any children! Suppose,
there being children, they die--what anguish! Suppose merely that they
are seriously ill and recover--what an ageing experience! Suppose they
prove a disappointment--what endless regret! Suppose they "turn out
badly" (children do)--what shame! Suppose he finally becomes depend