net is so often spread in vain, even though it be baited with the
priceless privilege of tea, tobacco, and the talk of a well-
informed man, comes, in troops and companies, to see him. He is a
man too with a deep vein of humour, and, what is far more rare, a
keen vein of appreciation of the humour of others. He laughs as if
he were amused, not like a man discharging a painful duty. It is
true that he will not answer letters; but then his writing-paper is
generally drowned deeper than plummet can sound; his pens are
rusty, and his ink is of the consistency of tar; but he will always
answer questions, with an incredible patience and sympathy,
correcting one's mistakes in a genial and tentative way, as if a
matter admitted of many opinions. If a man, for instance, maintains
that the Norman Conquest took place in 1066 B.C., he will say that
some historians put it more than two thousand years later, but that
of course it is difficult to arrive at exact accuracy in these
matters. Thus one never feels snubbed or snuffed out by him.

Well, for the purposes of my argument, I will call my friend Perry,
though it is not his name; and having finished my introduction I
will go on to my main story.

I took in to dinner the other night a beautiful and accomplished
lady, with whom it is always a pleasure to talk. The conversation
turned upon Mr. Perry. She said with a graceful air of judgment
that she had but one fault to find with him, and that was that he
hated women. I hazarded a belief that he was shy, to which she
replied with a dignified assurance that he was not shy; he was
lazy.

Prudence and discretion forbade me to appeal against this decision;