But Herbert cut in with the observation that no matter what a man’s single and several capacities and talents might be, he is controlled by his own mysterious individuality, which is what metaphysicians call the substance, all else being the mere accidents of the man.  And this is the reason that we cannot with any certainty tell what any person will do or amount to, for, while we know his talents and abilities, we do not know the resulting whole, which is he himself.  The fire-tender.  So if you could take all the first-class qualities that we admire in men and women, and put them together into one being, you wouldn’t be sure of the result?

Herbert.  Certainly not.  You would probably have a monster.  It takes a cook of long experience, with the best materials, to make a dish “taste good;” and the “taste good” is the indefinable essence, the resulting balance or harmony which makes man or woman agreeable or beautiful or effective in the world.

The young lady.  That must be the reason why novelists fail so lamentably in almost all cases in creating good characters.  They put in real traits, talents, dispositions, but the result of the synthesis is something that never was seen on earth before.

The fire-tender.  Oh, a good character in fiction is an inspiration.  We admit this in poetry.  It is as true of such creations as Colonel Newcome, and Ethel, and Beatrix Esmond.  There is no patchwork about them.

The young lady.  Why was n’t Thackeray ever inspired to create a noble woman?

The fire-tender.  That is the standing conundrum with all the women.  They will not accept Ethel Newcome even.  Perhaps we shall have to admit that Thackeray was a writer for men.

Herbert.  Scott and the rest had drawn so many perfect women that Thackeray thought it was time for a real one.

The mistress.  That’s ill-natured.  Thackeray did, however, make ladies.  If he had depicted, with his searching pen, any of us just as we are, I doubt if we should have liked it much.

Mandeville.  That’s just it.  Thackeray never pretended to make ideals, and if the best novel is an idealization of human nature, then he was not the best novelist.  When I was crossing the Channel—­

The mistress.  Oh dear, if we are to go to sea again, Mandeville, I move we have in the nuts and apples, and talk about our friends.

III

There is this advantage in getting back to a wood-fire on the hearth, that you return to a kind of simplicity; you can scarcely imagine any one being stiffly conventional in front of it.  It thaws out formality, and puts the company who sit around it into easy attitudes of mind and body,—­lounging attitudes,—­Herbert said.