“Then you never looked in a glass, dear. No, dear uncle, I will tell you. Mr. Talboys has seen the world, has kept good society, is at his ease (a great point), and is perfect in externals. But his good manners are—what shall I say?—coat deep. His politeness is not proof against temptation, however petty. The reason is, it is only a spurious politeness. Real politeness is founded and built on the golden rule, however delicate and artificial its superstructure may be. But, leaving out of the question the politeness of the heart, he has not in any sense the true art of good-breeding; he has only the common traditions. Put him in a novel situation, with no rules and examples to guide him, he would be maladroit as a school-boy. He is just the counterpart of Mr. Dodd in that respect. Poor Mr. Dodd is always shocking one by violating the commonest rules of society; but every now and then he bursts out with a flash of natural courtesy so bright, so refined, so original, yet so worthy of imitation, that you say to yourself this is genius—the genius of good-breeding.”
Mr. Fountain chafed with impatience during this tirade, in which he justly suspected an attempt to fritter away a serious discussion.
“Come off your hobby, Lucy,” cried he, “and speak to me like a woman and like my niece. If this is your objection, overcome it for my sake.”
“I would, dear,” said Lucy, “but it is only one of my objections, and by no means the most serious.”
On being invited to come at once to the latter, Lucy hesitated. “Would not that be unamiable on my part? Mr. Talboys has just paid me the highest compliment a gentleman can pay a lady; it is for me to decline him courteously, not abuse him to his friend and representative.”
“No humbug, Lucy, if you please; I am in no humor for it.”
“We should all be savages without a little of it.”
“I am waiting.”
“Then pledge me your word of honor no word of what I now say to the disadvantage of poor Mr. Talboys shall ever reach him.”
“You may take your oath of that.”