“I am sorry to have suggested the cynicism of society. I fancy you feel toward Mrs. Stellmore as I sometimes feel toward Stenson. Stenson—Dick knows him—is one of the cleverest men you ever would be likely to meet. He has been everywhere, has seen everything and everybody, and has the most entertaining stories to tell of any place or any person you are likely to mention. Now, of some people you have a fashion of saying to yourself, ‘He is probably lying.’ But with Stenson you have an uneasy feeling at the thought that probably he is telling the truth.” “Then I should call Stenson a sort of personified newspaper. That is the way I always feel about newspapers. It is very annoying.” “But that is an unwholesome attitude of mind. Every woman should believe one man and one newspaper, just as every man should, and I believe generally does, believe one woman and one newspaper.” “What an extraordinary theory.” “Mrs. Fentley, that is a good working philosophy. There may not be either one man or one woman who is worthy of such an unvarying faith, and for the same reason it is possible that there is not one newspaper that uniformly is worthy of belief. But that does not affect the matter. It is a case of being comfortable.” “Pardon me, but it looks to me more like a case of being fooled. Now my theory—” “As a cynic.” “—as a cynic, is to have reservations. Of course I never could quite believe my mother, for when I was wicked she never quite carried out her threats. I can see now that she was wise in having her reservations, too. Her theory was dangerously severe. Her practice was wiser.” “You judge by the results. She would value your praise.” “Oh, I often have said this to her. Then, my teachers were frequently mistaken.” “Did you tell them, too?” “Certainly,—in my nice way, you know. Then Dick,—I never could be so much in love with him that I should not know that he had reservations. Once, when we had been married about a year, Dick came home very late, and I asked where he had been. You know how young I was when I was married. ‘Why, Ethel,’ said Dick, ‘you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’ ‘I should,’ I said, ‘tell me where you have been.’ ‘Now Ethel, why do you ask me that? I know you wouldn’t believe me.’ But I persisted. ‘I promise you, Dick, that I shall believe just what you tell me.’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have been down to the Young Men’s Christian Association.’ I never bothered Dick again. That is the next best thing to your philosophy, I suppose. It is about my mother’s point of view. She used to say that a good way to make a child a liar was to force an issue when there was nothing to be gained by it.” “That is why you do not force issues with Dick?” “Precisely. And that is why Dick lets me alone pretty much.”