A lover masculine so disappointed can speak and urge explanation, a lover feminine can say nothing; if she did, the result would be shame and anguish, inward remorse for self-treachery. Nature would brand such demonstration as a rebellion against her instincts, and would vindictively repay it afterwards by the thunderbolt of self-contempt smiting suddenly in secret. Take the matter as you find it: ask no questions, utter no remonstrances; it is your best wisdom. You expected bread, and you have got a stone: break your teeth on it, and don't shriek because the nerves are martyrized; do not doubt that your mental stomach--if you have such a thing--is strong as an ostrich's; the stone will digest. You held out your hand for an egg, and fate put into it a scorpion. Show no consternation: close your fingers firmly upon the gift; let it sting through your palm. Never mind; in time, after your hand and arm have swelled and quivered long with torture, the squeezed scorpion will die, and you will have learned the great lesson how to endure without a sob. For the whole remnant of your life, if you survive the test--some, it is said, die under it--you will be stronger, wiser, less sensitive. This you are not aware of, perhaps, at the time, and so cannot borrow courage of that hope. Nature, however, as has been intimated, is an excellent friend in such cases, sealing the lips, interdicting utterance, commanding a placid dissimulation--a dissimulation often wearing an easy and gay mien at first, settling down to sorrow and paleness in time, then passing away, and leaving a convenient stoicism, not the less fortifying because it is half-bitter.

A masculine lover can urge explanation: a feminine lover can say nothing - if she did, the result would be shame and anguish. Take the matter as you find it: ask no questions, utter no remonstrance. You expected bread, and you have got a stone: break your teeth on it, and don't shriek. You held out your hand for an egg, and you were given a scorpion. Show no consternation: close your fingers firmly upon the gift; let it sting you. Never mind; in time, after your hand has quivered long with torture, the scorpion will die, and you will have learned the great lesson - how to endure without a sob. For the rest of your life, if you survive the test - some, it is said, die under it - you will be stronger, wiser, less sensitive. You will pretend an easy and placid manner at first, settling down to sorrow and paleness in time, and then a half-bitter stoicism. 