"Well, not mean exactly, but—"
"No, you haven't. They can get plenty angry, but they don't get mean. There's a difference."
He said nothing.
"Have you ever seen a child here tear the wings off an insect?" She went on, not waiting for his reply. "No, you haven't. And you won't. Have you ever seen a native with a hard, cruel face? No, again. Have you ever seen one that wasn't gentle with children?"
"I guess not. I never thought about it."
She turned to him with an odd tremulousness in her face, replacing her usual cynical look and slightly raised eyebrows. "They love their children here. They really love them." She looked at him. "They don't say they love them and then hit them and humiliate them because they accidentally break the vase Aunt Matilda gave the family for Christmas. Their child's happiness means more to them than any vase, than any material object. They never humiliate their children. That's why they grow up to walk like kings and queens.
"They grow up being loved," she said. "They all love each other. And it isn't because they try. They don't try to be good and nice and love their fellow-men, like we do. It's just something that flows out of them. They're full of warmth inside, and it flows out.
"And something else—" she went on. "Have you ever caught one in a lie?"
"No, but that doesn't mean—"
"People like your Mr. Cortland think they're sly and deceptive because they're always courteous, and still you can't push them around. But he's wrong. They're courteous because they're sorry for us, not because they're afraid of us."