nt, how are we to expect that she should behave as she might
otherwise have behaved to any of the people about her? Arguing in this
way, from within-outwards, what do we reach? We reach the Subjective
view. I defy you to controvert the Subjective view. Very well then--what
follows? Good Heavens! the Objective-Subjective explanation follows, of
course! Rachel, properly speaking, is not Rachel, but Somebody Else.
Do I mind being cruelly treated by Somebody Else? You are unreasonable
enough, Betteredge; but you can hardly accuse me of that. Then how does
it end? It ends, in spite of your confounded English narrowness and
prejudice, in my being perfectly happy and comfortable. Where's the
sherry?"

My head was by this time in such a condition, that I was not quite sure
whether it was my own head, or Mr. Franklin's. In this deplorable state,
I contrived to do, what I take to have been, three Objective things.
I got Mr. Franklin his sherry; I retired to my own room; and I solaced
myself with the most composing pipe of tobacco I ever remember to have
smoked in my life.

Don't suppose, however, that I was quit of Mr. Franklin on such easy
terms as these. Drifting again, out of the morning-room into the hall,
he found his way to the offices next, smelt my pipe, and was instantly
reminded that he had been simple enough to give up smoking for Miss
Rachel's sake. In the twinkling of an eye, he burst in on me with his
cigar-case, and came out strong on the one everlasting subject, in his
neat, witty, unbelieving, French way. "Give me a light, Betteredge.
Is it conceivable that a man can have smoked as long as I have without
discovering that there is a complete system for the treatment of women
at the bottom of his cigar-case? Follow me carefully, and I will prove
it in two words. You choose a cigar, you try it, and it disappoints you.
What do you do upon that? You throw it away and try another. Now observe
the application! You choose a woman, you try her, and she breaks your
heart. Fool! take a lesson from your cigar-case. Throw her away, and try
another!"

I shook my head at that. Wonderfully clever, I dare say, but my
own experience was dead against it. "In the time of the late Mrs.
Betteredge," I said, "I felt pretty often inclined to try your
philosophy, Mr. Franklin. But the law insists on your smoking your
cigar, sir, when you have once chosen it." I pointed that observation
with a wink. Mr. Franklin burst out laughing--and