I got to thinking of my experience in having a photograph of myself
made I saw that Mr. Lucas has some warrant for his statement. There
has been only one Oliver Cromwell to say: "Paint me as I am." The
rest of us humans prefer to have the wart omitted. If my photograph
is true to life I don't want it. I'm going to send it away, and I
don't want the folks who get it to think I look like that. If I were
a woman and could wear a disguise of cosmetics when sitting for a
picture the case might not be quite so bad. The subtle flattery of
the photograph is very grateful to us mortals whether we admit it or
not. My friend Baxter introduced me once as a man who is not
two-faced, and went on to explain that if I had had two faces I'd
have brought the other instead of this one. And that's true. I
expect the photographer to evoke another face for me, and hence my
generous gift of money to him. I like that chap immensely. He takes
my money, gives me another face, bows me out with the grace of a
finished courtier, and never, by word or look, reveals his knowledge
of my hypocrisy.

As a boy I had a full suit of company manners which I wore only when
guests were present, and so was always sorry to have guests come. I
sat back on the chair instead of on its edge; I didn't swing my legs
unless I had a lapse of memory; I said, "Yes, ma'am," and, "No,
ma'am," like any other parrot, just as I did at rehearsal; and, in
short, I was a most exemplary child save for occasional reactions to
unlooked-for situations. The folks knew I was posing, and were on
nettles all the while from fear of a breakdown; the guests knew I was
posing, and I knew I was posing. But we all pretended to one another
that that was the regular order of procedure in our house. So we had
a very gratifying concert exercise in hypocrisy. We said our prayers
that night just as usual.