I'm not going to be dishonest with myself; that's one of the streaks I've developed.
You ask me if I love Stephanie enough to marry her, and I say I don't.
What's the good of blinking it?
I don't love anybody enough to marry 'em; but I like a number of girls well enough to spoon with them." "_That_ is disgusting!" "No, it isn't," he said, with smiling weariness; "it's the unvarnished truth about the average man.

Why wink at it?
The average man can like a lot of girls enough to spoon and sentimentalise with them.

It's the pure accident of circumstance and environment that chooses for him the one he marries.

There are myriads of others in the world with whom, under proper circumstances and environment, he'd have been just as happy--often happier.

Choice is a mystery, constancy a gamble, discontent the one best bet.