"Ah, you see, our national sense of humor—"
"Nonsense; it's just uneasiness and excessive desire to please."
"Ah yes, we are very simple-minded."
"There's nothing so maddening as a constant smile. That girl over there in the pervenche silk, an old school friend of mine, was condoling with me before you came upon having a brother-in-law whose habitual expression is a fixed frown. I said it didn't trouble any of us in the least. Both my sister and I had long ago agreed, if we had to choose between a man with a perpetual laugh or a perpetual scowl, we'd take the scowl and be grateful."
"Ah, I begin to understand your ladyship's tolerance for me."
"Come, now, be honest; don't you realize how much more Americans laugh than other people?"
"If it is so, it's because we're the saddest race under the sun."
Still he smiled.
"Saddest—"
"Yes; in proof of it our feverish activity, and our frequent laughter. You remember the boy who whistled in the dark? The American laughs on the same principle."