He would no doubt think that the truth was not in me. He would remonstrate: “But you told me—”
Then I should justify myself: “In a crisis,’ I said, my dear gentleman from the moon. I said nothing about ordinary daily life. Now you see this well-favoured girl who has been nagging at her brother all through tea because of some omission or commission—I can assure you that if, for instance, her brother had typhoid fever that girl would nurse him with the devotion of a saint. Similarly, if she lost her sweetheart by death or breach of promise, he would envelope her in brotherly affection.”
“How often does he have typhoid fever?” the lunatic might ask. “Once a month?”
“Well,” I should answer, “he hasn’t had it yet. But if he had it—you see!”
“And does she frequently get thrown over?”
“Oh, no! Her young man worships her. She is to be married next spring. But if—”
“And so, while waiting for crises and disasters, they go on—like this?”
“Yes,” I should defend my fellow-terrestrials. “But you must not jump to the conclusion that they are always like this. They can be just as nice as anybody. They are perfectly charming, really.”
“Well, then,” he might inquire, “how do they justify this behaviour to one another?”
“By the hazard of birth,” I should reply, “or by the equally great hazard of marriage. With us, when you happen to have the same father and mother, or even the same uncle, or when you happen to be married, it is generally considered that you may abandon the forms of politeness and the expressions of sympathy, and that you have an unlimited right of criticism.”