see you, you rush off to the photographer’s; and, similarly, there is no better method of ascertaining the exact quality of your intellectual appearance in the eyes of the world than to set down your opinions in black and white. When Miss Berrith made the remark that I was the most pathetic figure she had ever seen, and supplemented it later with the observation that I was the most self-satisfied, I perceived that there was something radically wrong with either one or the other of us, and determined to find out what and which it was. Due reflection presently satisfied me that the remarks in question must have been based upon an imperfect conception of my ideas of life in general and matrimony in particular. A glance in my mirror was all that was necessary to convince me that my personal appearance had nothing whatever to do with it. Perhaps I am not striking, but still less am I pathetic. Nor was there a better reason for suspecting a reference to my pecuniary circumstances.
