From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 126)

Like most gentleman, I wear an elegant square of silk in the top pocket of my suit. The less said about why this became a fashionable trend in the first place, the better (it has to do with the practices of unsavoury gentlemen in the 17th century).

I digress, my silk is purely for show. I carry a regular handkerchief about my person for actual use. Not so much for sneezing (although, granted, such an occurrence can happen), but rather for tying a tourniquet around whichever limb has been shot, or stabbed – a very real occupational hazard. Remarkable that such a simple piece of linen can save one’s life, but judiciously applied, it most certainly can.

I keep a further handkerchief (cotton, more absorbent) to offer to weeping women. While I’m seldom the cause of such weeping (well, not that often anyway), it does seem de rigueur for women of the upper classes to initiate some frequent eye leaking to show their sensibilities. I find it an awful bore.

Victorian romance novels may depict a dashing hero preserving a handkerchief into which his beloved once wept at their parting, but I much prefer a scented billet-doux any day.

Of course, when it’s someone that one knows who’s in genuine distress, then an embrace is the obvious option. However, if at all possible, draping one’s handkerchief over one’s shoulder before the damp (and sometimes slimy) clinch occurs, helps to preserve the delicate bond between oneself and one’s tailor. Indeed, if my weeping companion knows me well enough, she will have both the good sense and the politeness to contain herself just long enough to allow me to strategically place my handkerchief in advance of collapsing into my arms. I, in turn, will afford them more time to compose themselves if they allow me the good grace to have my protective covering in place.

However, a lady that one does not know will receive no more than the passing of a handkerchief. The offering of said item is a society approved way of signalling that while one acknowledges her distress, it simply won’t do, and can she please stop. A well brought up lady will pocket the handkerchief, although a less refined woman may attempt to return it to the gentleman. Heavens, they might even blow their nose in it before attempting to do so. Please don’t do this. Ever.

I don’t wish to ruin the line of my suit with a crumpled handkerchief, nor do I desire to have something uncomfortably moist in my pocket. Even for those ladies who have been nearest and dearest to me, the handling of a used handkerchief is a step too far (especially if they may have sniffle due to a cold or a fever, for as much as I may be close to them, I don’t wish to be that close to their germs).

So, for the preservation of my clothing, and my health, keep your facial secretions (and my used handkerchiefs) to yourself.