the sensation that life is not large enough to contain the household or the office-staff, when the business of intercourse may be compared to the manoeuvres of two people who, having awakened with a bad headache, are obliged to dress simultaneously in a very small bedroom.  ‘After you with that towel!’ in accents of bitter, grinding politeness.  ’If you could kindly move your things off this chair!’ in a voice that would blow brains out if it were a bullet.  I venture to say that you know those days.  ‘But,’ you reply, ‘such days are few.  Usually...!’ Well, usually, the friction, though less intense, is still proceeding.  We grow accustomed to it.  We scarcely notice it, as a person in a stuffy chamber will scarcely notice the stuffiness.  But the deteriorating influence due to friction goes on, even if unperceived.  And one morning we perceive its ravages—­and write a letter to the Telegraph to inquire whether life is worth living, or whether marriage is a failure, or whether men are more polite than women.  The proof that friction, in various and varying degrees, is practically conscious in most households lies in the fact that when we chance on a household where there is no friction we are startled.  We can’t recover from the phenomenon.  And in describing this household to our friends, we say:  ‘They get on so well together,’ as if we were saying:  ’They have wings and can fly!  Just fancy!  Did you ever hear of such a thing?’

Ninety per cent. of all daily friction is caused by tone—­mere tone of voice.  Try this experiment.  Say:  ’Oh, you little darling, you sweet pet, you entirely charming creature!’ to a baby or a dog; but roar these delightful epithets in the tone of saying:  ’You infernal little nuisance!  If I hear another sound I’ll break every bone in your body!’ The baby will infallibly whimper, and the dog will infallibly mouch off.  True, a dog is not a human being, neither is a baby.  They cannot understand.  It is precisely because they cannot understand and articulate words that the experiment is valuable; for it separates the effect of the tone from the effect of the word spoken.  He who speaks, speaks twice.  His words convey his thought, and his tone conveys his mental attitude towards the person spoken to.  And certainly the attitude, so far as friction goes, is more important than the thought.  Your wife may say to you:  ‘I shall buy that hat I spoke to you about.’  And you may reply, quite sincerely, ‘As you please.’  But it will depend on your tone whether you convey:  ’As you please.  I am sympathetically anxious that your innocent caprices should be indulged.’  Or whether you convey:  ’As you please.  Only don’t bother me with hats.  I am above hats.  A great deal too much money is spent in this house on hats.  However, I’m helpless!’ Or whether you convey:  ’As you please, heart of my heart, but if you would like to be a nice girl, go gently.  We’re rather tight.’  I need not elaborate.  I am sure of being comprehended.