There can be no doubt about it: that is where they keep the good
woman of Fiction, where they keep the pretty girl of Art.
Does it not occur to you, Messieurs les Auteurs, that you are sadly
disturbing us? These women that are a combination of Venus, St.
Cecilia, and Elizabeth Fry! you paint them for us in your glowing
pages: it is not kind of you, knowing, as you must, the women we
have to put up with.
Would we not be happier, we men and women, were we to idealize one
another less? My dear young lady, you have nothing whatever to
complain to Fate about, I assure you. Unclasp those pretty hands of
yours, and come away from the darkening window. Jack is as good a
fellow as you deserve; don't yearn so much. Sir Galahad, my dear--
Sir Galahad rides and fights in the land that lies beyond the
sunset, far enough away from this noisy little earth where you and I
spend much of our time tittle-tattling, flirting, wearing fine
clothes, and going to shows. And besides, you must remember, Sir
Galahad was a bachelor: as an idealist he was wise. Your Jack is
by no means a bad sort of knight, as knights go nowadays in this un-
idyllic world. There is much solid honesty about him, and he does
not pose.
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