"It is indelicate," says the father or husband,
"to inquire into the private character of such an one. It is
sufficient that I do not think him unfit to visit you." And so, this
man, who would not tolerate these pages in his house, "unfit for
family reading," because they speak plainly, introduces there a man
whose shame is written on his brow, as well as the open secret of the
whole town, and, presently, if _respectable_ still, and rich
enough, gives him his daughter to wife. The mother affects ignorance,
"supposing he is no worse than most men." The daughter _is_
ignorant; something in the mind of the new spouse seems strange to
her, but she supposes it is "woman's lot" not to be perfectly happy in
her affections; she has always heard, "men could not understand
women," so she weeps alone, or takes to dress and the duties of the
house. The husband, of course, makes no avowal, and dreams of no
redemption.
"In the heart of every young woman," says the female writer above
quoted, addressing herself to the husband, "depend upon it, there is a
fund of exalted ideas; she conceals, represses, without succeeding in
smothering them. _So long as these ideas in your wife are directed
to YOU, they are, no doubt, innocent_, but take care that they be
not accompanied with _too much_ pain.
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