may I tell you how it all
was,--diagnose the situation?"

"Do," he replied; "it is a relief to hear you talk."

"Well," I said, "may I ask one rather intimate question? Did you ever
before you were married sow what are known as wild oats?"

"Never," he answered indignantly, flashing for a moment.

"Well, you should have done," I said; "that's just the whole trouble.
Wild oats will get sown some time, and one of the arts of life is to
sow them at the right time,--the younger the better. Think candidly
before you answer me."

"I believe you are right," he replied, after a long pause.

"You are a believer in theories," I continued, "and so am I; but you
can take my word that on these matters not all, but some, of the old
theories are best. One of them is that the man who does not sow his
wild oats before marriage will sow them afterwards, with a whirlwind
for the reaping."

Orlando looked up at me, haggard with confession.

"You know the old story of the ring given to Venus? Well, it is the
ruin of no few men to meet Venus for the first time on their marriage
night. Their very chastity, paradoxical as it may seem, is their
destruction. No one can appreciate the peace, the holy satisfaction of
monogamy till he has passed through the wasting distractions, the
unrest of polygamy. Plunged right away into monogamy, man,
unexperienced in his good fortune, hankers after polygamy, as the
monotheistic Jew hankered after polytheism; and thus the monogamic
young man too often meets Aphrodite for the first time, and makes
future appointments with her, in the arms of his pure young wife. If
you have read Swedenborg, you will remember his denunciation of the
lust of variety. Now, that is a lust every young man feels, but it is
one to be satisfied before marriage. Sylvia Joy has been such a
variant for you; and I'm afraid you're going to have some little
trouble to get her off your nerves. Tell me frankly," I said, "have
you had your fill of Aphrodite? It is no use your going back to your
wife till you have had that."

"I'm not quite a beast," he retorted. "After all, it was an experiment
we both agreed to try."

"Certainly," I answered, "and I hope it may have the result of
persuading you of the unwisdom of experimenting with happiness. You
have the realities of happiness; why should you trouble about its
theories? They are for unhappy people, like me, who must learn to
distil by learned patience the aurum potab