WHY MARRIAGE FAILS

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXVI, Issue 18071, 8 January 1921, Page 9

WHY MARRIAGE FAILS

(By Mrs Stanley Wrench). “ Complacent affection—yes— but what we understand as love—fi’o, rarefy after the romance of married life has passed.” “The romance of married life needn't go,” I retorted. “Why, when people have passed their golden wedding day they can still bo romantic lovers.” The Philosopher smiled in patronising fashion. I know he thinks me a foolish woman, with little knowledge of the world, and a blind and baseless faith in the goodness of humanity, and usually I stand too much in awe of his rather solid learning to dare qqery or contradict his assertions. All the same, I remain fixed in'my conviction that there are as many happily married folk as unhappy, nor is it always the fault of the woman when tha ‘husband loses the love of his wife. At heart he may be as much the lover after marriage as before, and it would greatly shock and surprise him if his love was queried; but a woman is rarely content with a love that is unspoken. MISTAKES OF THE MARRIED. She may be blissfully certain that she is the only woman in the world; but she wants to be told this, not once, but many times. Quiet affection does not fill that space in her heart that pines for love-words and unsought kisses Nor are women alone in this, for there is many a man whose heart beats faster when his wife kisses him as she did when their life of comradeship began, and “I and You” became “ We.” It is usually the wily adventurer, having studied women, whoso honeyed compliments form the prelude to lovemaking, who causes unhappiness in the homes of well-matdd folk. Every woman, even without knowing it, pines for romantic love-making, and many an embittered man has himself to blame when his wife leaves him for another. COMPLIMENTS AND KISSES. I met yesterday a friend, a very happily married woman, who lately has looked most lonesome, and who has been far from well. Yesterday she was brilliant, bubbling over with happiness, and I asked the reason of the change. “Oysters,” she cried. “I thought you never ate them,” I said. Then she told me how Jim, her husband, had brought some oysters home, although knowing she never touched them; but he had cooked half a dozen for her in American fashion with egg, butter, and flour. “It was funny to see the darling old thing with a frying-pan over the gas stove,” she cried. “I ate every one.” “ Did you really like them ?” I asked. “ Like them ?” shec ried. “ They were horrible, until I remembered he had cooked them. After that they might have been ambrosia. It was being shown he cared so much—l’ve been vibrating with happiness ever since.” I fancy any woman will understand. I am not so sure, about every man. If, however, he does, his wife will be a happy woman, for delicate flattery, love words, and out-of-the-way kindnesses spell more to the heart of a woman than jewels or Paris frocks.