fe to her
husband at a critical time in his career when he had broken his promise
to her. One or two critics said the situation is impossible, because no
man would carry a letter unopened for a long number of years. My reply
is: that it is exactly what I myself did. I have still a letter written
to me which was delivered at my door sixteen years ago. I have never
read it, and my reason for not reading it was that I realised, as I
think, what its contents were. I knew that the letter would annoy, and
there it lies. The writer of the letter who was then my enemy is now my
friend. The chief character in the book, Crozier, was an Irishman, with
all the Irishman's cleverness, sensitiveness, audacity, and timidity;
for both those latter qualities are characteristic of the Irish race,
and as I am half Irish I can understand why I suppressed a letter and
why Crozier did. Crozier is the type of man that comes occasionally to
the Dominion of Canada; and Kitty Tynan is the sort of girl that the
great West breeds. She did an immoral thing in opening the letter that
Crozier had suppressed, but she did it in a good cause--for Crozier's
sake; she made his wife write another letter, and she placed it again
in the envelope for Crozier to open and see. Whatever lack of morality
there was in her act was balanced by the good end to the story, though
it meant the sacrifice of Kitty's love for Crozier, and the making of
his wife happy once more.

As for 'Wild Youth' I make no apology for it. It is still fresh in the
minds of the American public, and it is true to the life. Some critics
frankly called it melodramatic. I do not object to the term. I know
nothing more melodramatic than certain of the plots of Shakespeare's
plays. Thomas Hardy is melodramatic; Joseph Conrad is melodramatic;
Balzac was melodramatic, and so were Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, and
Sir Walter Scott. The charge of melodrama is not one that should disturb
a writer of fiction. The question is, are the characters melodramatic.
Will anyone suggest to me the marriage of a girl of seventeen with a man
over sixty is melodramatic. It may be, but I think it tragical, and so
it was in this case. As for Orlando Guise, I describe the man as I knew
him, and he is still alive. Some comments upon the story suggested that
it was impossible for a man to spend the night on the prairie with a
woman whom he loved without causing her to forget her marriage vows. It
is not sentimental to s