"He is well friended by many ladies, some of account, and some of none
at all, by what I hear," said the friar, rather dryly for such a
twinkling spirit.

"Ah, with ladies," Prosper put in, "you have me again; for I know less
of them than of monks, save that both have petticoats. Your pardon,
brother."

"Not a bit, not a bit, brother again," replied the friar. "I admit the
hindrance; and could tell you of the advantages if I had the mind. But
as to the ladies, suffer me to predict that you will know more of them
before you have done."

"I think not," said Prosper. Brother Bonaccord began to laugh.

"They will give you no peace yet awhile," said he. "And let me tell
you this, from a man who knows what he is talking about, that if you
think to escape them by neglecting them, you are going the devil's way
to work. If you wish them to let you alone, speak them fair, drop
easily to your knee, be a hand-kisser, a cushion-disposer, a goer on
your toes. They will think you a lover and shrug you away. Never do a
woman a service as if to oblige her; do it as if to oblige yourself.
Then she will believe you her slave. Then you are safe. That is your
game, brother."

"You have studied ladies, friar?"

"Ah, ah! I have indeed. They are a wondrous fair book. I know no
other. Why should I?"