Annie Laurie

Twin City Sentinel/June 24, 1909

So the American woman is starving for romance, is she, Prince Troubetsky?

Well, then, why doesn’t she stretch out her pretty little hand and get all the romance she wants?

There’s plenty of it lying around idle at her very feet—if she’s only consent to take it.

The truth is, Prince Troubetsky, the American man is the romance lover, not the American woman.

Men have three times the sentiment of women, anyway. Do you, know any woman on earth, in any country or in any clime, who will hang on to an old frock till it is ragged and worn to tatters, just because she has had a good time in that frock once?

Do you know any man of any substance whatever who hasn’t a coat or so that he wouldn’t part with for untold gold, just because he was once happy in them?

Who keeps the locks of hair and the old photographs?

The man.

Who shows the old letters to the new sweetheart?

The woman.

Who will live in an old house he loves till the roof falls in before he’ll move to a new one, no matter how fine, which has no sentimental association?

The man.

Who believes in the home and the fireside and children the most? On my heart, I believe it is, in this day and generation and in this country, the man.

Who marries for money?

The woman.

For place? For position? For spite? For vanity? For convenience? For family reasons?

The woman.

Half the women I know are proud of the fact that they do not love their husbands, and do not even pretend to love them.

American women starving for romance! You are wrong, Prince Troubetsky, you’re wrong. It is the American man who is starving, and the American woman who is starving him.