Indeed, if people only realised it, habit is the cement which holds the edifice of matrimony together. With the passing of years, given the slightest basis of mutual harmony, one’s partner becomes indispensable--not by reason of her charms or the love we bear him, but simply because she or he is a part of our lives. That is why I think the policy of constant separation foolish. It is based presumably on the erroneous supposition that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Where the basis of mutual harmony does _not_ exist, it may be true; and if a couple dislike each other and get on badly, a short separation may serve to relieve the tension, and to send them back each resolved to try and make things smoother in future. But where affection exists, it is a mistake. One learns to do without the other; that linking chain of little daily intimacies, oft-repeated jests, endearing customs, is temporarily snapped, and it is not easily put together again. My friend Miranda said to me not long ago: ‘If Lysander’s been away from me a day I’ve heaps to talk about when he returns--if we’ve been parted a month, I’ve nothing on earth to say.’ I think it is de la Rochfoucauld who says: ‘Absence deepens great passions and lessens little ones just as the wind puts out the candle and heightens the fire.’ This is fine from the literary point of view, but is it true? My experience says No. Yet _during_ the absence this aphorism seems true enough. Disillusion comes with reunion. Who does not remember that first departure of the Beloved--the innumerable letters, the endless meditation, the ceaseless yearning and the everlasting planning for the glorious return? What a meeting that is going to be! How one dwells in thought on that first goodly satisfaction of the desire of the eyes; goodlier still that joyous clasping of the hands; goodliest of all that glorious locking of the lips, that unending embrace in the ecstasy of which all the wretched hours of absence are to be forgotten--and, oh! laughter of the gods! how different it really proves! What a hideous disappointment the meeting is! How different the Beloved looks from our passionate dream; his hair wants cutting; we don’t like his boots; his tie is not of our choosing; his speech does not please us; his kiss has no thrill; his remarks bore; his presence irritates: in short, _we have learnt to do without him_, so nothing he does seems right. Poor Beloved! and did you think the same of us? Are you disappointed too? Did you say to yourself: ‘How fagged she looks! By Jove! she’s getting a double chin. I thought pink used to suit her. What’s she done to her hair? Her voice seems sharper. Why does she laugh like that? I don’t like her teeth. Good heavens, the woman’s hideous!’ In short, _he has learnt to do without us_. When husbands and wives learn this lesson, the good ship ‘Wedded Bliss’ is getting into perilous waters where danger of utter wreck looms large.