“Now, Leander, I don’t think that seems amiable or pleasant at all. I think we ought to try to accommodate ourselves to the tastes of our friends.” “Then, my dear, suppose you try to like your salad with sugar and vinegar.” “But it’s so _gauche_ and unfashionable! Did you ever hear of a salad made with sugar and vinegar on a table in good society?” “My mother’s table, I believe, was good society, and I learned to like it there. The truth is, Hero, for a sensible woman, you are too fond of mere fashionable and society notions.” “Yes, you told me that last week, and I think it was very unjust,--_very unjust, indeed_"--(uttered with emphasis). “No more unjust than your telling me that I was dictatorial and obstinate.” “Well, now, Leander, dear, you must confess that you are rather obstinate.” “I don’t see the proof.” “You insist on your own ways and opinions so, heaven and earth won’t turn you.” “Do I insist on mine more than you on yours?” “Certainly, you do.” “I don’t think so.” Hero casts up her eyes and repeats with expression,-- “O, wad some power the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us!” “Precisely,” says Leander. “I would that prayer were answered in your case, my dear.” “I think you take pleasure in provoking me,” says the lady. “My dear, how silly and childish all this is!” says the gentleman. “Why can’t we let each other alone?” “You began it.” “No, my dear, begging your pardon, I did not.” “Certainly, Leander, you did.” Now a conversation of this kind may go on hour after hour, as long as the respective parties have breath and strength, both becoming secretly more and more “set in their way.” On both sides is the consciousness that they might end it at once by a very simple concession. She might say,--“Well, dear, you shall always have your salad as you like”; and he might say,--“My dear, I will try to like your salad, if you care much about it”; and if either of them would utter one of these sentences, the other would soon follow. Either would give up, if the other would set the example; but as it is, they remind us of nothing so much as two cows that we have seen standing with locked horns in a meadow, who can neither advance nor recede an inch. It is a mere deadlock of the animal instinct of firmness; reason, conscience, religion, have nothing to do with it.