Now, in regard to his pursuit of women, he meant them no harm,because he did not conceive of the relation which he hoped tohold with them as being harmful. He loved to make advances towomen, to have them succumb to his charms, not because he was acold-blooded, dark, scheming villain, but because his inborndesire urged him to that as a chief delight. He was vain, he wasboastful, he was as deluded by fine clothes as any silly-headedgirl. A truly deep-dyed villain could have hornswaggled him asreadily as he could have flattered a pretty shop-girl. His finesuccess as a salesman lay in his geniality and the thoroughlyreputable standing of his house. He bobbed about among men, averitable bundle of enthusiasm--no power worthy the name ofintellect, no thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelingslong continued in one strain. A Madame Sappho would have calledhim a pig; a Shakespeare would have said "my merry child"; old,drinking Caryoe thought him a clever, successful businessman. Inshort, he was as good a