Some critics
maintain that the heroes and heroines of his books are
impossibly pure and innocent young people. R. H. D. never
called upon his characters for any trait of virtue, or
renunciation, or self-mastery of which his own life could not
furnish examples.
Fortunately, he did not have for his friends the same
conscience that he had for himself. His great gift of
eyesight and observation failed him in his judgments upon his
friends. If only you loved him, you could get your biggest
failures of conduct somewhat more than forgiven, without any
trouble at all. And of your molehill virtues he made splendid
mountains. He only interfered with you when he was afraid
that you were going to hurt some one else whom he also loved.
Once I had a telegram from him which urged me for heaven's
sake not to forget that the next day was my wife's birthday.
Whether I had forgotten it or not is my own private affair.
And when I declared that I had read a story which I liked
very, very much and was going to write to the author to tell
him so, he always kept at me till the letter was written.
Have I said that he had no habits? Every day, when he was
away from her, he wrote a letter to his mother, and no swift
scrawl at that, for, no matter how crowded and eventful the
day, he wrote her the best letter that he could write.
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