inestimable wealth of a loving heart, no diamonds except those shining in her eyes, no pearls but what one might see when her lips parted in shy smile or merry laughter.
For the average man—be his rank high or low—loves a woman, as the saying is, for herself. While recognizing the value and usefulness of money, while raising no objection should his father-in-law allow the young wife pin-money, the average man who marries in the ordinary way sets little store on what his bride brings him in the shape of earthly dross.
It is, however, incumbent on a writer of contemporary biography to be in the main courteous and commendatory, else we might apply a harsher criticism to "The Murder of Delicia" than a mere statement to the effect that this book is the least worthy of all the books Marie Corelli has written. It is far too full of railing against men; it is far too one-sided and far too bitter. Granted that a novelist must put his or her case strongly, in order to drive conviction home to the reader's mind—granted this, it must be at the same time pointed out that there are generally two sides to every question. Given that a certain number of men marry for money—for money and nothing else—it must be recollected that there are at the present moment
