Player

Not everyone is young. Past a certain age, people, particularly men, start to be dead. Which leaves the women who had been their wives and who are not dead, alone. These women have grandchildren, a house, and a life insurance settlement from their late husband.

The more realistic ones realize that 'until death do us part' and white picket fences are for starting families. And that they already had a family, which has grown up and moved away and one of them, died. And that they are not going to start another. They still have the picket fence and the house behind it and do not need another. So 'until death do us part' leaves their agenda.

A gentleman of the same age who has the good fortune to be alive and the good sense not to be interested in young chickies with whom he has nothing in common, will be able to please any number of these ladies and himself regularly.

He is a player. If he is interested in these ladies for their money, he is neither a gentleman nor a player. He is a cad. cf. convict, anal rape victim, extraditee, applicant for Swiss citizenship, et alia. One does not need to own a beach house. It suffices to spend weekends at hers.

He omits to mention any of these ladies to any other of them, not because he imagines any of them to be such dunces as not to know, but for reasons of good taste and decorum.

Trevor loved taking Mrs. Dalrymple up the coast of a weekend in his Jaguar. It made them both feel that he was not so much a player as a gallant that he paid for everything, as though that were anything but a gesture to so wealthy a woman as Mrs. Dalrymple. Or was it Mrs. Fosgate whom he had tucked it to four times over the weekend. Or perhaps Mrs. Armbruster? They all looked so very much alike in the dark. Trevor, who was C of E and thus naturally an atheist, nevertheless devoutly worshipped cialis.

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