“No; I haven't been there since he told me it would be of no use to come as a student. He can be terribly frank.”
“Nobody knows that better than I do,” said Jeff, with a smile for the notion of Westover's frankness as he had repeatedly experienced it. “But he means well.”
“Oh, that's what they always say. But all the frankness can't be well meant. Why should uncandor be the only form of malevolence?”
“That's a good idea. I believe I'll put that up on Westover the next time he's frank.”
“And will you tell me what he says?”
“Oh, I don't know about that.” Jeff lay back in his chair at large ease and chuckled. “I should like to tell you what he's just been saying to me, but I don't believe I can.”
“Do!”
“You know he was up at Lion's Head in February, and got a winter impression of the mountain. Did you see it?”
“No. Was that what you were talking about?”
“We talked about something a great deal more interesting—the impression he got of me.”