He brings a charge he can't support; she punishes him by taking three years' lease of independence and kicks up the grass all over the paddock, and then comes cuckoo, barking his name abroad to have her home again.

You can win the shyest filly to corn at last.

She goes, and he digests ruefully the hotch-potch of a dish the woman brings him.

Only the world spies a side-head at her, husbanded or not, though the main fault was his, and she had a right to insist that he should be sure of his charge before he smacked her in the face with it before the world.

In dealing with a woman, a man commonly prudent--put aside chivalry, justice, and the rest--should bind himself to disbelieve what he can't prove.