“Andyet,”saidI,smiling,“Icannotquiteholdmyselfabsolvedfromthechargeofsensationalismwhichhasbeenurgedagainstmyrecords.” “Youhaveerred,perhaps,”heobserved,takingupaglowingcinderwiththetongsandlightingwithitthelongcherry-woodpipewhichwaswonttoreplacehisclaywhenhewasinadisputatiousratherthanameditativemood—“youhaveerredperhapsinattemptingtoputcolourandlifeintoeachofyourstatementsinsteadofconfiningyourselftothetaskofplacinguponrecordthatseverereasoningfromcausetoeffectwhichisreallytheonlynotablefeatureaboutthething.” “ItseemstomethatIhavedoneyoufulljusticeinthematter,”Iremarkedwithsomecoldness,forIwasrepelledbytheegotismwhichIhadmorethanonceobservedtobeastrongfactorinmyfriend’ssingularcharacter. “No,itisnotselfishnessorconceit,”saidhe,answering,aswashiswont,mythoughtsratherthanmywords.“IfIclaimfulljusticeformyart,itisbecauseitisanimpersonalthing—athingbeyondmyself.Crimeiscommon.Logicisrare.Thereforeitisuponthelogicratherthanuponthecrimethatyoushoulddwell.Youhavedegradedwhatshouldhavebeenacourseoflecturesintoaseriesoftales.” Itwasacoldmorningoftheearlyspring,andwesatafterbreakfastoneithersideofacheeryfireintheoldroomatBakerStreet.Athickfogrolleddownbetweenthelinesofdun-colouredhouses,andtheopposingwindowsloomedlikedark,shapelessblursthroughtheheavyyellowwreaths.Ourgaswaslitandshoneonthewhiteclothandglimmerofchinaandmetal,forthetablehadnotbeenclearedyet.SherlockHolmeshadbeensilentallthemorning,dippingcontinuouslyintotheadvertisementcolumnsofasuccessionofpapersuntilatlast,havingapparentlygivenuphissearch,hehademergedinnoverysweettempertolecturemeuponmyliteraryshortcomings. “Atthesametime,”heremarkedafterapause,duringwhichhehadsatpuffingathislongpipeandgazingdownintothefire,“youcanhardlybeopentoachargeofsensationalism,foroutofthesecaseswhichyouhavebeensokindastointerestyourselfin,afairproportiondonottreatofcrime,initslegalsense,atall.ThesmallmatterinwhichIendeavouredtohelptheKingofBohemia,thesingularexperienceofMissMarySutherland,theproblemconnectedwiththemanwiththetwistedlip,andtheincidentofthenoblebachelor,wereallmatterswhichareoutsidethepaleofthelaw.Butinavoidingthesensational,Ifearthatyoumayhaveborderedonthetrivial.” “Theendmayhavebeenso,”Ianswered,“butthemethodsIholdtohavebeennovelandofinterest.” “Pshaw,mydearfellow,whatdothepublic,thegreatunobservantpublic,whocouldhardlytellaweaverbyhistoothoracompositorbyhisleftthumb,careaboutthefinershadesofanalysisanddeduction!But,indeed,ifyouaretrivial,Icannotblameyou,forthedaysofthegreatcasesarepast.Man,oratleastcriminalman,haslostallenterpriseandoriginality.Astomyownlittlepractice,itseemstobedegeneratingintoanagencyforrecoveringlostleadpencilsandgivingadvicetoyoungladiesfromboarding-schools.IthinkthatIhavetouchedbottomatlast,however.ThisnoteIhadthismorningmarksmyzero-point,Ifancy.Readit!”Hetossedacrumpledletteracrosstome. ItwasdatedfromMontaguePlaceupontheprecedingevening,andranthus: “DEARMR.HOLMES,—IamveryanxioustoconsultyouastowhetherIshouldorshouldnotacceptasituationwhichhasbeenofferedtomeasgoverness.Ishallcallathalf-pasttento-morrowifIdonotinconvenienceyou.Yoursfaithfully,