s, his audience throw up their hands and eyes and ask: "Was
there ever such a man?" "Thank Heaven, _never_!" the nineteenth century
replies unanimously.

Secure as he is of the contemporary public verdict, Sir Charles does not
attempt to repress his love of "pawing" all his female acquaintances. He
is eternally taking their hands, putting his arm round their waists,
leading them up and down, and permitting himself liberties that in a less
perfect character would be considered intolerable. It is also
interesting to note that he never addresses any of his female friends
without the prefix "my." "My Harriet," "my Emily," "my Charlotte," are
his usual forms, and he is likewise very much addicted to the use of the
third person, which may, however, have been the result of his long
residence in Italy.

Little as you read of the book, no doubt you were struck--you _must_ have
been--by the singular practice in this very matter of Christian names,
and also by the enormous satisfaction with which every one promptly
adopts every one else as his brother or sister. As regards names, no
sooner has Sir Charles rescued Harriet from the clutches of Sir Hargrave
Pollexfen, than he calls her "_his_ Harriet," though, when he is once
engaged to her, then this is changed into "infinitely obliging Miss
Byron." His eldest sister, one year his senior, is always "Lady L." to
him, and on her marriage "his Charlotte," aged twenty-four, becomes "Lady
G.;" but no one ever ventures to address him with anything more familiar
than "Sir Charles." Harriet, indeed, once gets as far as "my Cha-" but
this was in a moment of extreme emotion--one of the excesses of youth.

Of course the method of telling his story in letters necessitates the
acceptance of various improbabilities; reticence has sometimes to be
violated, and confidences to be unduly made. Still, with all these
allowances, the gossip of every one with regard to the likelihood of Sir
Charles returning Harriet's very thinly veiled attachment is highly
undignified, and often indecent. The Object himself, for whom no less
than seven ladies were at that time openly sighing, alone ignores
Harriet's love, or, at any rate, appears to do so. But his sisters
freely and frequently charge her with having fallen in love with him. She
writes pages to her whole family as to his behaviour on particular
occasions, while his ward, Emily Jervois, begs permission to take up her
abode with Harriet when s