Ye old bachelor is like ye green
chimney of ye new house--hard to kindle. But ye widower is like ye
familiar fireplace. Ye must court according to ye kind. Ye
bachelor and ye widower are treated in ye big booke_."
"The swain is left," said Marguerite. "How and when is the swain
to be courted?"
"_Now ye beauty of ye swain is that ye can court him at all seasons
of ye year. Ye female bird will signal for ye mate only when ye
woods are green; but even ye old maid can go to ye icy spinnet and
drum wildly in ye dead of winter with ye aching fingers and ye
swain mate will sometimes come to her out of ye cold_."
Marguerite was beginning to think that nearly every one treated in
Lady Bluefields' book was too advanced in years: it was too
charitable to the problems of spinsters. "Where do the young come
in?" she asked impatiently.
"_Ye must not court ye young swain with ye food or ye wine. That
is for ye old bachelors and ye widowers to whom ye food and wine
are dear, but ye woman who gives them not dear enough. Ye woman
gives them meat and drink and they give ye woman hope: it is ye
bargain: let each be content with what each gets. But if ye swain
be bashful and ye know that he cannot speak ye word that he has
tried to speak, a glass of ye wine will sometimes give him that
missing word. Ye wine passes ye word to him and he passes ye word
to you: and ye keep it! When ye man is soaked with wine he does
not know what he loves nor cares: he will hug ye iron post in ye
street or ye sack of feathers in ye man his bed and talk to it as
though nothing else were dear to him in all ye world.
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