She. The highest mercy is to be just. To palliate is merely to postpone sentence. He. You are the first woman I ever met who would acknowledge that. She. Few women, I hope, have been taught by an experience so hard as mine. But how dolefully we are talking. Do say something amusing; we are at a ball. He. I might give you an epigram for the one with which you served me a moment ago, and retort that to be amusing is to be insincere. She. Then—for we came to be amused—why are we here? He. Manifestly because we prize insincerity. She. You are right. I came to get away from myself. One must do something, and even the dissipations of charity pall after a time. He. We seem to be in much the same frame of mind, and perhaps cannot do better than to stay where we are, consorting darkly, while the others take pains to amuse themselves. So we get through the evening, that is the main thing. She. You have forgotten to be as complimentary as you were half an hour since. He. Have I? And yet the greatest compliment a man can pay a woman is sincerity. [62] [62] She. If he does not love her, yes. He. Ah, then you agree with Tom Moore: “While he lies, his heart is yours; But oh! you’ve wholly lost the youth, The instant that he tells you truth!” She. Perhaps; but it is no matter, since we were not talking of love. He. But if we were?
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