opportunity, but it existed before the man or the woman was in love.
Such men and women, who are jealous of their wives and their husbands,
were jealous before of their brothers, sisters, or acquaintances,
whenever they imagined that they were displaced by them in the
affections of the family or of their friends.

That man who is jealous of his wife because he imagines, rightly or
wrongly, that she receives and accepts the attentions of other men,
will also probably be jealous of her if his children show preference to
her or bestow more attentions on her than on him. Othello is a jealous
brute who might have murdered a General in the Venetian army who had
been promoted to a rank he would have considered himself entitled to.

And when people are jealous in love, what fools they are to let it be
seen! What an idiot that man is who lets his wife suppose that he
thinks she could prefer another man to him! Suggestions are terrible.
What a poor diplomatist that woman is who does not let her husband
think that she takes it for granted no woman could have in his eyes
the charms she possesses! Jealousy can only suggest to men and women
actions which would revolt them if they had absolute confidence in each
other.

In love, however, jealousy should not be condemned too severely. A
little of it, just a little, adds piquancy. It then becomes an emotion,
a stimulant, that rouses desire, something like that short absence
which the Italians call the _dolce piccante_, and which many
artistically constituted lovers will take now and then merely to
increase the pleasure of reunion. Epicures will do it, and invariably
with success. A diplomatist, who loves his wife, and is sure to be
loved by her, may cure her of a passing little coldness by openly
paying innocent attentions to another woman. And who is the man who is
such a strict monogamist that he cannot admire--in a platonic way, of
course--other women besides the one he loves? And who is the woman who
is not aware of that? I remember, a few years ago, greatly admiring a
beautiful American girl, daughter of a great friend of mine. When, the
following year, I went to America again, she introduced me to her
husband. Did I admire that girl? Yes, immensely. Did I love her?
Certainly not. Yet my first impulse was to knock down her husband. That
is all I mean by saying that very few men are strict monogamists.

* * * * *

A little anecdote, _a