A woman is quick to
recognize the fact that the great and more dangerous passions are always
SERIOUS, and may be excused if in self-respect she is often induced to
try if there be not somewhere under the skin of this laughing Mercutio
the flesh and blood of a Romeo. Thatcher was by nature a defender and
protector; weakness, and weakness alone, stirred the depths of his
tenderness,--often, I fear, only through its half-humorous aspects,--and
on this plane he was pleased to place women and children. I mention this
fact for the benefit of the more youthful members of my species, and am
satisfied that an unconditional surrender and the complete laying down
at the feet of Beauty of all strong masculinity is a cheap Gallicism
that is untranslatable to most women worthy the winning. For a woman
MUST always look up to the man she truly loves,--even if she has to go
down on her knees to do it.
Only the masculine reader will infer from this that Carmen was in love
with Thatcher; the more critical and analytical feminine eye will
see nothing herein that might not have happened consistently with
friendship.
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