Of course it is made to seem responsible, and in a sense it _is_ responsible, but, in the vast majority of cases, purely as an animal instinct, confirming the suggestion of circumstances.' 'There's something in all this,' granted the listener, 'but it doesn't explain the behaviour of a man who, after frightful experience in marriage--after recovering his freedom--after finding himself welcomed by congenial society--after inheriting a fortune to use as he likes--goes and offers himself to an artful hussy in a lodging-house.' 'That's the special case. Look how it came to pass. Months ago I knew I was drifting into dangerous relations with that girl. Unfortunately I am not a rascal: I can't think of girls as playthings; a fatal conscientiousness in an unmarried man of no means. Day after day we grew more familiar. She used to come up and ask me if I wanted anything; and of course I knew that she began to come more often than necessary. When she laid a meal for me, we talked--half an hour at a time. The mother, doubtless, looked on with approval; Emma had to find a husband, and why not me as well as another? They knew I was a soft creature--that I never made a row about anything--was grateful for anything that looked like kindness--and so on. Just the kind of man to be captured. But no--I don't want to make out that I am their victim; that's a feeble excuse, and a worthless one. The average man would either have treated the girl as a servant, and so kept her at her distance, or else he would have alarmed her by behaviour which suggested anything you like but marriage. As for me, I hadn't the common-sense to take either of these courses. I made a friend of the girl; talked to her more and more confidentially; and at last--fatal moment--told her my history. Yes, I was ass enough to tell that girl the whole story of my life. Can you conceive such folly?