d maid will look about
her, will weigh and consider, will pick and choose, and, when she thinks
she has found a man to her purpose, will set her cap at him will attract
him, enslave him, bring him to her feet, make him propose, accept him as
husband, give him all the sweets of engagement, regard herself and
proclaim herself his affianced bride,--all with most prudential--it may
be, most praise-worthy--motives. On a sudden, the man discovers that
this was no real attachment, but a fictitious, almost an enforced, one;
that the methods (so he thinks) were artificial, the results delusive.
What happens? The man withdraws--politely--gallantly: t'was a mistake;
he is sorry; they are unsuited; he did not know his own mind; he is
sorry;--and so on, and so forth. They separate. And, in this
concatenation of circumstances, action for breach of promise is out of
the question.--Besides, often enough, the girl, through pride or
through sheer chagrin at the indifference of the man, pretends
acquiescence.--What happens to the man? Nothing. If his senses were
stirred, he himself is heart-whole. He gave nothing; he merely received.
He proposes again to somebody else; is accepted; marries happily; rears a
family. What happens to the girl? Everything. The man gave her nothing;
she gave all--her lips, her looks, the recesses of her heart; the
premonitions of the gift of her self; for, when she leant on him, looked
up to him, clung to him, felt his strong encircling arms, was perturbed
by his ardor, she gave that which was not to give again. Such woman is
to be pitied. For, however much she may strive to make it appear that
she gave nothing, that she had all to give again, not even her own soul
will bear her witness, and sooner, or later, a subsequent lover (and such
girl accepts the first lover that offers) will find a void where he hoped
to find an inexhaustible treasure. For the woman cannot forever keep up
a fictitious affection; and languid looks, and eyes that will not
brighten, and smiles which are so evidently forced, bespeak her
sympathies elsewhere.--But, as Heine said, this is an old story often
repeated. (1) Wherefore

Let us pity women! The dice they throw are their hearts--and they have
only one throw:--when they have thrown away their hearts--Pity women!

Men have so many dice to throw: income, status, title; virility, fortune,
fame; good spirits, good connections, good looks; an air, a figure, a
soul-stirring voic