If we should question many persons as to why they thought this or that man selfish, a common answer would probably be, “He does not consider other people.” What this means is that he is inappreciative of the social situation as we see it; that the situation does not awaken in him the same personal sentiments that it does in us, and so his action wounds those sentiments. Thus the commonest and most obvious form of selfishness is perhaps the failure to subordinate sensual impulses to social feeling, and this, of course, results from the apathy of the imaginative impulses that ought to effect this subordination. It would usually be impossible for a man to help himself to the best pieces on the platter if he conceived the disgust and resentment which he excites. And though this is a very gross and palpable sort of selfishness, it is analogous in nature to the finer kinds. A fine-grained, subtle Egoist, such as is portrayed in George Meredith’s novel of that name, or such as Isabel’s husband in Henry James’s “Portrait of a Lady,” has delicate perceptions in certain directions, but along with these there is some essential narrowness or vulgarity of imagination which prevents him from grasping what we feel to be the true social situation, and having the sentiments that should respond to it. The æsthetic refinement of Osmond which so impresses Isabel before her marriage turns out to be compatible with a general smallness of mind. He is “not a good fellow,” as Ralph remarks, and incapable of comprehending her or her friends. A lack of tact in face-to-face intercourse very commonly gives an impression of egotism, even when it is a superficial trait not really expressive of an unsympathetic character. Thus there are persons who in the simplest conversation do not seem to forget themselves, and enter frankly and disinterestedly into the subject, but are felt to be always preoccupied with the thought of the impression they are making, imagining praise or depreciation, and usually posing a little to avoid the one or gain the other. Such people are uneasy, and make others so; no relaxation is possible in their company, because they never come altogether out into open and common ground, but are always keeping back something. It is not so much that they have self-feeling as that it is clandestine and furtive, giving one a sense of insecurity. Sometimes they are aware of this lack of frankness, and try to offset it by reckless confessions, but this only shows their self-consciousness in another and hardly more agreeable aspect. Perhaps the only cure for this sort of egotism is to cherish very high and difficult ambitions, and so drain off the superabundance of self-feeling from these petty channels. People who are doing really important things usually appear simple and unaffected in conversation, largely because their selves are healthfully employed elsewhere.