get into it. Not all the histrionic capacity of woman can attach any
appearance of gusto and spontaneity toit.


An estimable lady psychologist of the American Republic, Mrs.
Marion Cox, in a somewhat florid book entitled "Ventures into
Worlds," has a sagacious essay upon this subject. She calls the
essay "Our Incestuous Marriage," and argues accurately that, once
the adventurous descends to the habitual, it takes on an offensive
and degrading character. The intimate approach, to give genuine
joy, must be a concession, a feat of persuasion, a victory; once it
loses that character it loses everything. Such a destructive
conversion is effected by the average monogamous marriage.
It breaks down all mystery and reserve, for how can mystery and
reserve survive the use of the same hot water bag and a joint
concern about butter and egg bills? What remains, at least on the
husband's side, is esteem--the feeling one, has for an amiable aunt.
And confidence--the emotion evoked by a lawyer, a dentist ora
fortune-teller. And habit--the thing which makes it possible to eat
the same breakfast every day, and to windup one's watch regularly,
and to earn a living.


Mrs. Cox, if I remember her dissertation correctly, proposes to
prevent this stodgy dephlogistication of marriage by interrupting its
course--that is, by separating the parties now and then, so that
neither will become too familiar and commonplace to the other. By
this means, she, argues, curiosity will be periodically revived, and
there will be a chance for personality to expand a cappella, and so
each reunion will have in it something of the surprise, the adventure