The best of women (I have heard my grandmother say) are hypocrites.

We don't know how much they hide from us: how watchful they are when they seem most artless and confidential: how often those frank smiles which they wear so easily, are traps to cajole or elude or disarm--I don't mean in your mere coquettes, but your domestic models, and paragons of female virtue.

Who has not seen a woman hide the dulness of a stupid husband, or coax the fury of a savage one?
We accept this amiable slavishness, and praise a woman for it: we call this pretty treachery truth.

A good housewife is of necessity a humbug; and Cornelia's husband was hoodwinked, as Potiphar was--only in a different way.
By these attentions, that veteran rake, Rawdon Crawley, found himself converted into a very happy and submissive married man.

His former haunts knew him not.