es her, still curious to know whether she will
remember that she has not yet heard his answer. But she has quite
forgotten. She moves, the incarnate spirit of politeness, about the
room, rousing trains of eager ideas in her guests, and as speedily
leaving them to run down a side-track into a bumper.

She has no real interest in any of them, probably she has no real
understanding of them. She thinks her manners are above reproach,
that she is treating her guests in the most exemplary fashion. In
reality, nothing could be worse than her manners, and she is treating
her guests most shabbily. By being polite, she ends by being rude. For
nothing is so rude in this world as to ask a man a question about some
subject close to his heart when you have no intention of listening to
his answer, nor any interest in it. The hostess thinks to feed his
vanity; she ends by wounding it. She thinks to make her guests
comfortable; she ends by making them uncomfortable.

The best manners I have ever seen were possessed by the most impolite
man I have ever known. As a result, nobody that he ever invited to his
house felt uncomfortable there. He was interested in all kinds and
conditions of people, all kinds and conditions of activities. If he
asked you a question, it was because he wanted to hear your answer. He
paid you the compliment of assuming that it was worth listening to,
and other people waited till you were through. At his table you
weren't supposed to confine your talk to the sweet young thing on your
left, who was more interested in the gay young blade on _her_ left,
nor to the sedate, elderly female person on your right, who was more
interested in the bishop on _her_ right. Talk was largely for the
whole table; and if you hadn't some definite contribution to make, you
were usually glad to keep still.

I say nobody ever felt uncomfortable in his house. That is not quite
true. Occasionally the person who expressed an opinion on a subject he
knew nothing about must have felt uncomfortable. For, though he was
listened to gravely while speaking, conversation was at once resumed
as if nothing whatever had been said.

Nothing could have been more conventionally impolite. And yet the act
was so utterly free from sham that it seemed the only decorous and
decent thing to do. Thus was the dignity of conversation maintained;
thus was each man and woman made to feel his or her worth along
personal lines of endeavor; thus was a true democr