him. Haggard, he sits down to his desk; his pen traverses the
notepaper--calling down curses on Louie and on all her sex? No; `one
cannot say good-bye for ever without deep regret to days that have
been so full of happiness. I must thank you sincerely for all your
great kindness to me.... With every sincere wish for your future
happiness,' he bestows complete freedom on Miss Hawke. And do not
imagine that in the matter of self-control and sympathy, of power to
understand all and pardon all, the men are lagged behind by the women.
Miss Leila Johnson (The Manse, Carlyle) has observed in Leonard Wace
(Dover Street, Saltburn) a certain coldness of demeanour; yet `I do
not blame you; it is probably your nature'; and Leila in her sweet
forbearance is typical of all the other pained women in these pages:
she is but one of a crowd of heroines.

Face to face with all this perfection, the not perfect reader begins
to crave some little outburst of wrath, of hatred or malice, from one
of these imaginary ladies and gentlemen. He longs for--how shall he
word it?--a glimpse of some bad motive, of some little lapse from
dignity. Often, passing by a pillar-box, I have wished I could unlock
it and carry away its contents, to be studied at my leisure. I have
always thought such a haul would abound in things fascinating to a
student of human nature. One night, not long ago, I took a waxen
impression of the lock of the pillar-box nearest to my house, and had
a key made. This implement I have as yet lacked either the courage or
the opportunity to use. And now I think I shall throw it away.... No,
I shan't. I refuse, after all, to draw my inference that the bulk of
the British public writes always in the manner of this handbook. Even
if they all have beautiful natures they must sometimes be sent
slightly astray by inferior impulses, just as are you and I.