With a smile at my folly that struggled with a sigh over hers, I let
her go. It was my fault not hers, that I had bruised my fists thumping
against a stone wall. Had I discoursed to her in Bengalee she would
have comprehended me no more imperfectly. The doom of hopelessness was
upon her. She was not merely a fool, but had taken the full degree as
a self-satisfied blockhead. I deserved what I got--and more of the
same sort.

Of a different type--being only a moderately conceited ignoramus, was
an otherwise well-educated woman whom I heard discourse volubly upon
ceramics and a valuable collection of old china she had picked up in a
foreign town. Among other kinds she named some choice bits of
"faience."

"Is not that used now as a general term for earthenware decorated with
color?" asked a listener modestly.

"Oh, by no means! It is never applied except to a particular and
exceedingly rare sort of pottery," went on the connoisseur. "But
perhaps you are not familiar with ceramic terms?"

"Not as familiar as I should be, I confess," rejoined the other,
gently regretful.

A couple of years later, I met the enthusiastic collector in the house
of the other party to the dialogue, and learned with her that our
hostess was renowned for her treasures of old china, and actually the
author of a book upon ceramics.

"What must she have thought of me the day I made such a fool of