the sensibilities, perhaps, of the best Havana tobacco. At a
time of his own deliberate choosing, often after many hours
of hankering and renunciation, he smoked his cigar. He smoked
it with delight, with a sense of being rewarded, and he used
all the smoke there was in it.

He dearly loved the best food, the best champagne, and the
best Scotch whiskey. But these things were friends to him,
and not enemies. He had toward food and drink the Continental
attitude; namely, that quality is far more important than
quantity; and he got his exhilaration from the fact that he
was drinking champagne and not from the champagne. Perhaps I
shall do well to say that on questions of right and wrong he
had a will of iron. All his life he moved resolutely in
whichever direction his conscience pointed; and, although
that ever present and never obtrusive conscience of his made
mistakes of judgment now and then, as must all consciences, I
think it can never once have tricked him into any action that
was impure or unclean. Some critics maintain that the heroes
and heroines of his books are impossibly pure and innocent
young people. R. H. D. never called upon his characters for
any trait of virtue, or renunciation, or self-mastery of
which his own life could not furnish examples.

Fortunately, he did not have for his friends the same
conscience that he had for himself. His great gift of
eyesight and observation failed him in his judgments upon his
friends. If only you loved him, you could get your biggest
failures of conduct somewhat more than forgiven, without any
trouble at all. And of your mole-hill virtues he made