“My dear Mrs. Littleton,” he said, with a counterfeit of great gravity, “you are now witnessing an impressive example of the politeness of true friendship.  There are cynics who assert that the American people are lacking in courtesy, and cast in our teeth the superiority of Japanese manners.  I wish they were here to-night.  There is not a single individual present, male or female, married or single, who does not secretly cherish the amiable belief that he or she can cook things on a blazer better than any one else.  And yet we abstain from criticism; we offer no suggestions; we accept, without a murmur, the proportions of cheese and beer and butter inflicted upon us by our hostess and her brother, and are silent.  We shall even become complimentary later.  Can the Japanese vie with this?”

The contrast between his eager, grave gaze, and the levity of his words, puzzled Selma.  He looked interesting, but his speech seemed to her trivial and unworthy of the occasion.  Still she appreciated that she must not be a spoil-sport, and that it was incumbent on her to resign herself to the situation, so she smiled gayly, and said:  “I am the only one then not suffering from self-restraint.  I never made a Welsh rabbit, nor cooked on a blazer.”  Then, in her desire for more serious conversation, she added:  “Do you really think that we, as a people, are less polite than the Japanese?”

The doctor regarded her with solemn interest for an instant, as though he were pondering the question.  As a matter of fact, he was thinking that she was remarkably pretty.  Then he put his finger on his lips, and in a hoarse whisper, said, “Sh!  Be careful.  If the editorial ear should catch your proposition the editorial man would appropriate it.  There!” he added, as her left-hand neighbor bent toward them in response to the summons, “he has heard, and your opportunity to sell an idea to the magazine is lost.  It is all very fine for him to protest that he has heard nothing.  That is a trick of his trade.  Let us see now if he will agree to buy.  If he refuses, it will be a clear case that he has heard and purloined it.  Come, Dennison, here’s a chance for a ten thousand-word symposium debate, ’Are we, as a nation, less polite than the Japanese?’ We offer it for a hundred and fifty cash, and cheap at the price.”

Mr. Dennison, who was a keen-eyed, quiet man, with a brown, closely-cut beard, had paused in his occupation of buttering hot toast for the impending rabbit, and was smiling quizzically.  “If you have literary secrets to dispose of, Mrs. Littleton, let me warn you against making a confidant of Dr. Page.  Had you spoken to me first, there is no knowing what I might have—­”

“What did I tell you?” broke in the doctor.  “A one hundred and fifty-dollar idea ruthlessly appropriated.  These editors, these editors!”