“The more reason, my dear, why you should have said something civil to her,” replied Emma.
“But I could not, Emma. It was out of the question to say any thing complimentary; and so I thought it best to say nothing. How you could go on as you did, amazed me, for you gave me such a funny look, which, by the way, I was so afraid Mrs. Elton would see, when she came out with those horrid false notes.”
“It was dreadful, to be sure,” said Emma. “But I think it not only uncivil, but really unamiable, Alice, not to stretch the truth sometimes. I declare I was quite delighted with myself for making the old lady so happy as I did, by praising Fanny’s music; and as for not asking her, that would never have done. They think at home she is the greatest musician in the city. One has got to fib sometimes.”
“Oh, don’t say so,” said Alice, earnestly. “I do love the truth—it’s a —”
“A jewel, no doubt,” said Emma, interrupting her. “I agree with you; but it’s in bad taste to be in jewels always. If you persist in telling the truth in season and out of season, you’ll be as outré as poor Mrs. Thatcher, with those eternal diamonds of hers. And then it’s so tiresome,” pursued Emma, “always to stick to facts so. You must embellish a little if you want to make a thing amusing.”
“There I entirely differ from you,” said Alice, decidedly. “The truth may not always be polite, but it’s always refreshing. I think there is nothing that is not only so beautiful, but so agreeable as the truth. It really sometimes has the effect of wit. There’s Mrs. Kemp, for instance, who everybody calls so agreeable; and I do think the great charm is in her being so perfectly true. She always gives you her real opinions and sentiments, and tells you things just as she sees them; and it gives a freshness to her conversation that very few people have. Most persons just repeat what others say, because they think it wont do to differ from the majority. Now truth gives life, freshness, individuality, every thing that is to me delightful, in both people and conversation.”
“Mrs. Kemp has an odd way of coming out with all that comes into her head,” replied Emma, “and I agree with you that it is amusing; but, really, I think it would hardly be put up with if she were not so rich, and a person of so much consequence as she is. I think people would call it right down impudence; and, moreover, she is a woman of a good deal of wit. If she were as dull as old Mrs. Elton, she might be as true as the sun, and she would never by any accident make you laugh. So, you see, my dear, it’s wit, and not truth, that is the refreshing quality. There’s Miss Ellis, who is not famous for her accuracy, and yet is one of the most amusing persons I know.”
“She would be, if one could place any reliance on her narratives,” replied Alice. “But the feeling of doubt and uncertainty that I have in listening to her anecdotes, dashes, if it does not destroy, the pleasure her conversation would otherwise give me.” Emma laughed as she answered, —
“Your dissatisfied look always amuses me when Miss Ellis is talking. But what difference does it make, after all, whether the thing is true or false, as long as it amuses? Half the time you don’t even know the people discussed. Where is the use of being so particular in trifles?”
“Oh, Emma,” said Alice, seriously, “don’t talk so. It’s a shocking habit. ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness,’ is one of God’s own commandments.”