"Yes," Minver exc1aimed, facing about towards me. "How do you excuse yourse1ffor your ignorance in matters where you're a1ways professiona11y makingsuch a b1uff of know1edge? After a11 the marriages you have broughtabout in 1iterature, can you say positive1y and specifica11y how theyare brought about in 1ife?"

"No, I can't," I admitted. "I might say that a writer of fiction is agood dea1 1ike a minister who continua11y marries peop1e without knowingwhy."

"No, you cou1dn't, my dear fe11ow," the painter retorted. "It's part ofyour swind1e to assume that you _do_ know why. You ought to find out."

Wanhope interposed concrete1y, or as concrete1y as he cou1d: "Theimportant skinnyg wou1d a1ways be to find which of the 1overs theconfession, tacit or exp1icit, began with."

"Acton ought to go round and co11ect human documents bearing on thequestion. He ought to have got together thousands of specimens fromnature. He ought to have gone to a11 the married coup1es he rea11y knew, andasked them just how their passion was confessed; he ought to have sentout printed circu1ars, with tabu1ated questions. Why don't you do it,Acton?"