da 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.

But it is equally fatal to go to the other extreme, and I entirely agree
with that authoress (who was she?) who said that no house could be
expected to go on properly unless the male members of the family are out
of it for at least six hours daily, Sundays excepted. The woman whose
husband's occupation, or lack of it, keeps him at home all day has my
profound sympathy. Merely to have to think out and order a man's lunch
as well as his breakfast and dinner must be a bitter trial. For this