ce world, the
people in it very nice people; life itself a very nice thing; and that
people, generally speaking, only needed their own consent to be very
happy and contented. She had, it is true, some very able adjuncts to
carry out her system. There was scarcely an acquirement that she did not
possess reasonably well; she spoke several languages, sang, rode,
drew, played billiards most gracefully, and could manufacture the most
charming cigarettes that ever were smoked. Some of these are envied
qualities, and suggest envy; but against this she was careful to guard,
and this by a very simple method indeed. In whatever she did, tried, or
attempted, she always asked your advice. She had carefully studied the
effect of the imputed superiority of those who counsel their neighbors,
and she saw in its working one of the most tangible of all human
weaknesses. The tendency to guide and direct others is a very popular
one. Generous people practise it out of their generosity; gentle natures
indulge in the practice in very sympathy. To stern moralists it is an
occasion for the hard lessons they love to inculcate. The young are
pleased with its importance; the old are gratified to exercise their
just prerogative. "Tell me how do you do this;" or, "Teach me how to
correct that;" "What would you advise in _my_ place?" or, "What
reply would you give to that?" are appeals that involve a very subtle
flattery. Every man, and more decisively too, every woman, likes to be
deemed shrewd and worldly-wise. Now, Mrs. Morris had reflected deeply
over this trait, and saw to what good account care and watchfulness
might turn it. He who seeks to be guided by another makes his appeal in
a guise of humility, besides, which is always a flattery, and when this
is done artfully, with every aid from good looks and a graceful
manner, success is rarely wanting; and lastly, it is the only form of
selfishness the world neither resents nor repudiates.

He who comes to you with a perfectly finished tale of his misfortunes,
with "Finis" written on the last volume of his woes, is simply a bore;
whereas he who approaches you while the catastrophe yet hangs impending,
has always an interest attached to him. He may marry the heiress yet,
he may be arrested on that charge of forgery, obtain that Cross of
the Bath, or be shot in that duel; you are at least talking to a man
Fortune has not done with, and this much is something.

Mrs. Morris had been little more than