er of women who have had chances of marrying can
comfort themselves that they chose to be single for their ideal's
sake--or for whatever the reason was. Larger still is the number of
those possessing the non-marrying temperament of which Bernard Shaw has
written: 'Barren--the Life-Force passes it by.' This rarely troubles
them; they have a host of minor pleasures and interests which suffice;
no storms of feeling, no pangs of stifled mother-longing ruffle the
placid surface of their lives. The real tragedy of the undesired does
not touch either of these classes; it is reserved in all its poignancy
for those who belong to the type of the _grande amoureuse_, whom lack of
opportunity generally, lack of attractiveness sometimes, has prevented
from fulfilling the deepest need of their nature.

I once met at a hotel on the Riviera an elderly spinster who was always
incredibly depressed. However bravely shone the sun, however fair seemed
the world in that fairest spot, nothing had the power to cheer her.
I tried once to get her to join in an excursion which a party of us were
going to make on donkey-back to a neighbouring village in the hills, but
she refused. Another time I invited her to accompany me to the rooms at
Monte Carlo, but she again refused, and after several well-meant efforts
on my part to cheer her had led to the same result, the poor soul told
me in hesitating words that she shunned gay places and lively
gatherings. 'They always make me discontented and remind me of what I
might have had; it brings home to me the--what shall I call it?--the
_tragedy of the might-have-been_.' I understood what she meant, and no
further words on the subject passed between us, much to my relief, as
confidences of this nature are very painful to both sides. My readers
will probably despise this poor lady as morbid, selfish and unbalanced.
Possibly they are right, but the sadness of an empty heart, a lonely
life, was the cause of her warped nature. Fortunately hers is an extreme
case; the majority of spinsters I imagine can take a delight in seeing
girls happy, and are generally deeply interested in the love affairs of
others. I recall a beautiful line of Fiona Macleod's to the effect that
'a secret vision in the soul will hallow life.' This will suffice to
keep many spinsters happy--the memory of some love and tenderness,
a romance of some kind to sweeten life; women need it.

To give another instance: a woman once asked me why men