w how to use it for each other. You see, I've
got to be a great philosopher lying here; nobody dares contradict me
or interrupt me when I'm constructing my theories, and so I get them
perfect."

"I wish I could hear them all," said Alice, with sincerity that made
Mrs. Mavering laugh as light-heartedly as Dan himself, and that seemed
to suggest the nest thing to her.

"You can for the asking, almost any time. Are you a very truthful
person, my dear? Don't take the trouble to deny it if you are," she
added, at Alice's stare. "You see, I'm not at all conventional and
you needn't be. Come! tell the truth for once, at any rate. Are you
habitually truthful?"

"Yes, I think I am," said Alice, still staring.

"Dan's not," said his mother quietly.

"Oh, see here, now, mother! Don't give me away!"

"He'll tell the truth in extremity, of course, and he'll tell it if it's
pleasant, always; but if you don't expect much more of him you won't be
disappointed; and you can make him of great use."

"You see where I got it, anyway, Alice," said Dan, laughing across the
bed at her.

"Yes, you got it from me: I own it. A great part of my life was made up
of making life pleasant to others by fibbing. I stopped it when I came
here."

"Oh, not altogether, mother!" urged her son. "You mustn't be too hard on
yourself."

She ignored his interruption: "You'll find Dan a great convenience with
that agreeable habit of his. You can get him to make all your verbal
excuses for you (he'll, do it beautifully), and dictate all the thousand
and one little lying notes you'll have to write; he won't mind it in the
least, and it will save you a great wear-and-tear of conscience."

"Go on, mother, go on," said Dan, with delighted eyes, that asked of
Alice if it were not all perfectly charming.

"And you can come in with your habitual truthfulness where Dan wouldn't
know what to do, poor fellow. You'll have the moral courage to come
right to the point when he would like to shillyshally, and you can be
frank while he's trying to think how to make y-e-s spell no."

"Any other little compliments, mother?" suggested Dan.

"No," said Mrs. Mavering; "that's all. I thought I'd better have it off
my mind; I knew you'd never get it off yours, and Alice had better
know the worst. It is the worst, my dear, and if I talked of him till
doomsday I couldn't say any more harm of him. I needn't tell you how
sweet he is; you know that, I'm sure; but you can't k