Going in, they found the supper-table set, and Mr. Vane entertaining the ladies with a story of two politicians, of opposite parties, who were so candid they were always convincing each other, and, consequently, were never of the same opinion, except when they were each half convinced; and even then they were not of the same opinion, for their minds turned different ways, like two persons who meet on the threshold of a house, one going in and one coming out. They went on year after year in this way, arguing, and trying to arrive at the truth, till at last they both went crazy and were locked up in separate mad-houses. At length both returned to their first opinions, and so were restored to reason. But when they were set at liberty, they became as great bigots as they had before been liberals, and each was so determined not only not to yield to the other, whom he regarded as the cause of his misfortunes, but even to own that he could be sincere in his opinions, that they never met without fighting. Their rancor went on increasing, till they finally challenged each other at the same moment; and, in disputing as to which was the challenged and which the challenger, flew into such a fury that at last they killed each other, without ever having had time to fight a duel. “The moral of it is,” Mr. Vane concluded, “that when a man has once chosen his opinions, he has no more right to hear them abused than he has to hear his wife abused, no matter what she may be; and the cream of the moral is that all arguments are not only useless but dangerous.” “I know now what is meant by espousing an opinion or a cause,” the Signora said. “I had supposed the word was used merely for variety of phrase. It means, then, ‘for better or for worse.’ Poor Truth! how many buffets she gets! Not from you!” she added hastily, and blushing as she saw that her words had made Mr. Vane suddenly serious, and that he was looking at her with an expression almost reproachful. “No matter what you may say, I am sure you would never see Truth standing on your threshold without bidding her welcome.” He looked down, and a faint smile rather shone through his face than parted his lips. He seemed to thank her so. “I fancy she comes oftenest in silence and by herself,” he said in a very quiet tone. Something in his voice and look made Clive Bailey regard him with a momentary keenness. He felt that they indicated an almost feminine delicacy, and a depth of sensitive sweetness he had not looked to find in Mr. Vane.