Selma found herself between the magazine editor and a large,
powerfully built man with a broad, rotund, strong face, who was
introduced to her as Dr. Page, and who was called George by every one
else. He had arrived late, just as they were going in to supper, and his
appearance had been greeted with a murmur of satisfaction. He had placed
himself between Pauline and her, and he showed himself, to Selma's
thinking, one of the least dignified of the company.
"My dear Mrs. Littleton," he said, with a counterfeit of great gravity,
"you are now witnessing an impressive example of the politeness of true
friendship. There are cynics who assert that the American people are
lacking in courtesy, and cast in our teeth the superiority of Japanese
manners. I wish they were here to-night. There is not a single
individual present, male or female, married or single, who does not
secretly cherish the amiable belief that he or she can cook things on a
blazer better than any one else. And yet we abstain from criticism; we
offer no suggestions; we accept, without a murmur, the proportions of
cheese and beer and butter inflicted upon us by our hostess and her
brother, and are silent. We shall even become complimentary later.
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