physical qualities that on the whole conspire to make up a healthy and
vigorous wife and mother; they imply soundness, fertility, a good
circulation, a good digestion. Conversely, sallowness and paleness are
roughly indicative of dyspepsia and anæmia; a flat chest is a symptom of
deficient maternity; and what we call a bad figure is really, in one way
or another, an unhealthy departure from the central norma and standard
of the race. Good teeth mean good deglutition; a clear eye means an
active liver; scrubbiness and undersizedness mean feeble virility. Nor
are indications of mental and moral efficiency by any means wanting as
recognised elements in personal beauty. A good-humoured face is in
itself almost pretty. A pleasant smile half redeems unattractive
features. Low, receding foreheads strike us unfavourably. Heavy, stolid,
half-idiotic countenances can never be beautiful, however regular their
lines and contours. Intelligence and goodness are almost as necessary as
health and vigour in order to make up our perfect ideal of a beautiful
human face and figure. The Apollo Belvedere is no fool; the murderers in
the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud's are for the most part no
beauties.

What we all fall in love with, then, as a race, is in most cases
efficiency and ability. What we each fall in love with individually is,
I believe, our moral, mental, and physical complement. Not our like, not
our counterpart; quite the contrary; within healthy limits, our unlike
and our opposite. That this is so has long been more or less a
commonplace of ordinary conversation; that it is scientifically true,
one time with another, when we take an extended range of cases, may, I
think, be almost demonstrated by sure and certain warranty of human
nature.

Brothers and sisters have more in common, mentally and physically, than