"I know I am--about the way things are done. What pleasure is there in
anything which offends your sense of fitness?"

"You bestow far too much importance on the outside of the cup and
platter."

Nan shook her head.

"_Mon verre n'est pas grand, mais--Je bois dans mon verre._" she quoted,
frivolously obstinate.

"Bah!" Penelope grunted, "The critical faculty is over-developed in you,
my child."

"Not a bit! Would you like to drink champagne out of a kitchen tea-cup?
Of course not. I merely apply the same principle to other things. For
instance, if the man I married ate peas with a knife and made loud juicy
noises when he drank his soup, not all the sterling qualities he might
possess would compensate. Whereas if he had perfect manners, I believe I
could forgive him half the sins in the Decalogue."

"Manners are merely an external," protested Penelope, although privately
she acknowledged to a sneaking agreement with Nan's point of view.

"Well," retorted Nan. "We've got to live with externals, haven't we?
It's only on rare occasions that people admit each other on to their
souls' doorsteps. Besides"--argumentatively--"decent manners _aren't_ an
external. They're the 'outward and visible sign.' Why"--waxing
enthusiastic--"if a man just opens a door or puts some coal on the fire
for you, it involves a whole history of the homage and protective