“But I have also wondered, _ma chère_, if, did man give us what that craving thing we call our soul demands, would we enjoy ourselves even as much as we do. It is always a gamble which will tire first, the man or the woman; and on the whole I am inclined to believe that the woman of charm and brain, and the position in life which enables her to find much distraction, is the surer prey to disenchantment. If she be of a deeper nature, or if she has deluded herself for a little that the man actually loved her and not himself, she may not tire, but be so bitterly disgusted and disillusioned that, for a moment, at least, she is capable of tragedy. But the average man, so particular with charm at first, merely lets us down in _ennui_. If he gave woman more of himself than he does now, perhaps she would tire sooner. He needs all the mystery he has. However, the fact remains that man is eternally unsatisfactory and woman eternally unsatisfied. I doubt if a woman of imagination ever lived who, having won what rent her soul and body while withheld, would not, after the first short chapter, exchange the reality for the previous lost world of her imagination. Good God! the disillusionment, the readjustment, the struggle through terror and despair to philosophy! If I were ordered to live my life over, I should demand, in compensation, the ever-fresh memory of a great and unsatisfied passion--after having known one man in the daily life of matrimony. A woman is briefly happy twice in her life--when a man--the man--is pursuing her, and palpitating doubt alternates with delicious certainty; and again, during the man’s first ardor, when he is so anxious to please, and so certain that he loves the woman, not himself, that his concentrated charm blinds, yet irradiates the universe. Shortly after, he becomes as matter-of-fact as he is. And then men are, no matter what their brains, utterly, irretrievably stupid where women are concerned. A man is never so happy as when he has lost the love of the woman, and she, taking refuge in duty, makes him thoroughly comfortable. On the other hand, men are abruptly left by women, again and again, and the cleverest of them never guess the reason why. They go on ruining their own lives--which they never suspect--and those of the women best worth having, without learning a lesson from the past. There is no happiness, my dear, until you are as old as I am, look like a mummy, and smoke _vuelta abajo_.” “Of course I recognize that all that was meant for me.” Her charge left the window and stared down at her. She puffed out a cloud, for Ranata’s eyes always made her blink. “But I am surprised that a woman of your wisdom should fancy that the person ever lived who would adjust his life by the experience of another.” “You have a brain. Most women have not. You will always be more or less guided by it. Therefore, you are worth the trouble to warn.”