n I die--I like the recollection of his friendly image and of the
nice girl he was engaged to. May Fate deal very kindly with them.

I have said just now that, in my present frame of mind, nothing would
ever make me make inquiries as to the character of any man that I liked
at first sight. (The little digression as to my Philadelphia experiences
was really meant to lead around to this.) For who in this world can
give anyone a character? Who in this world knows anything of any other
heart--or of his own? I don't mean to say that one cannot form an
average estimate of the way a person will behave. But one cannot be
certain of the way any man will behave in every case--and until one can
do that a "character" is of no use to anyone. That, for instance, was
the way with Florence's maid in Paris. We used to trust that girl with
blank cheques for the payment of the tradesmen. For quite a time she was
so trusted by us. Then, suddenly, she stole a ring. We should not have
believed her capable of it; she would not have believed herself capable
of it. It was nothing in her character. So, perhaps, it was with Edward
Ashburnham.

Or, perhaps, it wasn't. No, I rather think it wasn't. It is difficult
to figure out. I have said that the Kilsyte case eased the immediate
tension for him and Leonora. It let him see that she was capable of
loyalty to him; it gave her her chance to show that she believed in him.
She accepted without question his statement that, in kissing the girl,
he wasn't trying to do more than administer fatherly comfort to
a weeping child. And, indeed, his own world--including the
magistrates--took that view of the case. Whatever people say, one's
world can be perfectly charitable at times... But, again, as I have
said, it did Edward a great deal of harm.

That, at least, was his view of it. He assured me that, before that
case came on and was wrangled about by counsel with all sorts of
dirty-mindedness that counsel in that sort of case can impute, he
had not had the least idea that he was capable of being unfaithful to
Leonora. But, in the midst of that tumult--he says that it came suddenly
into his head whilst he was in the witness-box--in the midst of those
august ceremonies of the law there came suddenly into his mind the
recollection of the softness of the girl's body as he had pressed her
to him. And, from that moment, that girl appeared desirable to him--and
Leonora completely unattractive.

He began to indu