"But I don't know whether I understand exactly."

"Deal squarely with everybody. Say what I really feel. Then they say what
they really feel."

There was an obscure resentment unworthily struggling at the bottom of
Hewson's heart for her long neglect of him in behalf of the man on her
left. "Yes," he said, "if they are capable of really feeling anything."

"What do you mean? Everybody really feels."

"Well, then, thinking anything."

She drew herself up a little with an air of question. "I believe
everybody really thinks, too, and it's your duty to let them find out
what they're thinking, by truly saying what you think."

"Then _she_ isn't dealing quite honestly with him," said Hewson, with a
malicious smile.

The man at Miss Hernshaw's left was still talking about the play, and he
was at that moment getting off a piece of pure parrotry about it to the
lady across the table: just what everybody had been saying about it from
the first.

"No, I should think she was not," said the girl, gravely. She looked
hurt, as if she had been unfairly forced to the logic of her postulate,
and Hewson was not altogether pleased with himself; but at least he had
had his revenge in making her realize the man's vacuity.