But I note with some interest that the stories I took to writing at this period were highly emotional in tone, and somewhat exotic in their setting. The exotic settings may have been due in part to the fact that I had travelled, and yet more I fancy to revulsion from the material background of my early life in London. And the emotionalism must be attributed, I apprehend, in part to my age and temperament, and in part to my comparative solitude. I find it extremely difficult justly to appraise or analyse my relations with Fanny. In one mood I see merely youth, folly, vanity, and romantic emotionalism, directing my conduct; and again I fancy I discern some loftier motive, such as sincerely chivalrous generosity, humanity, unselfish desire to help and uplift, etc. Doubtless, in this as in most matters, a variety of motives and influences played their part in shaping one's conduct. Single and entirely unmixed motives are much more rare than most people believe, I fancy. Pride and vanity have a way of dogging generosity's footsteps very closely; steadfast endurance and selfish obstinacy are nearly related; and I dare say real kindness of heart often has a place where we most of us see only reckless self-indulgence. I remember very well a cold, clear moonlight night in the Hampstead Road, when reaction from solitary reflection made me unbosom myself a good deal to Sidney Heron, in the form of seeking his advice. On previous occasions I had told him something of Fanny and her dismal position, and he had seen her once or twice at my lodging. 'H'm! Yes. Precisely. So I inferred.' It was with such ejaculations, rather sardonic in tone, I thought, that he listened to me as we walked. 'Well, what shall I do?' I said at length as we reached his gate. 'What will you do?' he echoed. 'Well, my friend, since you are an inspired ass, and a confirmed sentimentalist, I imagine you----' 'What would you advise in the circumstances, I mean?' I interpolated hurriedly. 'My advice. Oh, that's another matter altogether, and of absolutely no value.' 'But, on the contrary, you are older than I.' 'I am indeed--centuries.' 'And your advice should be very helpful to me.' 'So it should. But it won't be, because you won't follow it.' 'How can you know that?' 'From my knowledge of human nature, sir; and, in particular, my observation of your sub-species.' 'Try me, anyhow.' 'Very well. Change your lodging to-morrow, and never set foot in Howard Street again. There's my advice, and it's the best you'll ever get--and the last you'd ever think of following. Give me a cigarette if you want to continue this perfectly useless conversation.' 'But, my dear Heron, I'm anxious to do the wisest thing----' 'Not you!' 'But consider the plight of that poor girl.' 'Oh, come! This opens new ground. I thought I was engaged to advise you.' 'Certainly. But in relation to--to what we've been talking about.'