But I don't know what it
means. Anyhow, I suppose that my money will go to him when 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.
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