She.—That is all—provided, of course, that they are at the same time truthful.
He.—And if they are not?
She.—Then they should be left unsaid, for one's speech should never be insincere or flippant.
He.—To be told that one is not looking well, or is looking ill, or older, as the case may be, is certainly not conducive to pleasant feelings on the part of the listener.
She.—Frequently, the person who would not be guilty of offenses of this kind, will arrive at the same results in an indirect way. For example, A, who may be too polite to tell B that he is getting "along in years," will ask him whether the handsome young lady seen in his company at the theater the previous evening is his daughter, thinking thus to compliment him as being the proud parent of so beautiful a maiden; whereas, A, who prides himself upon his youthful appearance, and thinks that he is "holding his own" against Father Time, fails to appreciate the "would-be" compliment. Mrs. C informs Mrs. D that she looks ten years younger since becoming so stout, while Mrs. E. advises Mrs. F. to buy a hat, as up-to-date elderly women no longer wear bonnets; and so on through the alphabet.
He.—Oh! I suppose it is impossible for people who are so obtuse as these to go through the world without blundering at every step.
She.—I don't know. It seems to me that these unthinking people might be taught to think. Surely, we can all learn by observation and experience; and it would seem that persons fairly introspective might discover that it is not direct speech alone that wounds or offends. We all know that the prettiest compliments are often those which are implied; and, conversely, sometimes it is the suggestive criticism or censure that wounds the most.
He.—Then we must remember that we should keep our minds alert; that we must not be found napping; that it is not sufficient that we refrain from giving pointed home thrusts, but that we should never, even by indirect speech, leave with our listener an unpleasant memory.
She.—Yes; we meet some people,—often only for a moment,—only once, perhaps, in a lifetime; but it is possible, in many instances, to make that moment linger forever as a pleasant memory to that other. We can all remember some occasion when there was merely a handclasp, when but few words were spoken, but the memory is ours forever. Something that was said, perhaps, seemingly trivial, but glorified by the speaker's smile, by the sincerity of his heart.