“‘Can you indeed forgive me?’ she at length said; ’my strange, blind, wayward folly?’

“‘Let us be friends as we were, Mrs.——­,’ I replied, ’and let this hour be forgotten, or only remembered as a seal to our friendship.’

“From that day, Louisa, there has been no jarring string in our friendly intercourse.  Mrs.——­really felt aggrieved; she thought that she perceived in my conduct all that she had alleged, and it wounded her to the quick.  But the earnest sincerity with which I sought her out and persisted in seeing her, convinced her that she had altogether misunderstood the import of my manner, which, under the peculiar state of her feelings, put on a false appearance.”

“Well, Mrs. Appleton,” Louisa said with a deep inspiration, as that lady ceased speaking, “I cannot say that I think you did wrong:  indeed, I feel that you were right; but I cannot act from such unselfish motives; it is not in me.”

“But you can compel yourself to do right, Louisa, even where there is no genuine good impulse prompting to correct actions.  It is by our thus compelling ourselves, and struggling against the activity of a wrong motive, that a right one is formed.  If I had consulted only my feelings, and had suffered only offended self-love to speak, I should never have persevered in seeing my friend; to this day there would have been a gulf between us.”

“Still, it seems to me that we ought not, as a general thing, to humour persons in these idle whims; it only confirms them in habits of mind that make them sources of perpetual annoyance to their friends.  Indeed, as far as I am concerned, I desire to be freed from acquaintances of this description; I do not wish my peace ever and anon interfered with in such an unpleasant way.”

“We should not,” Mrs. Appleton replied, “consider only ourselves in these, or indeed in any matters pertaining to social intercourse, but should endeavour sometimes to look away from what is most pleasant and gratifying to ourselves, and study to make others happy.  You know that the appearance which true politeness puts on is that of preferring others to ourselves.  We offer them the best seats, or the most eligible positions; or present them with the choicest viands at the table.  We introduce subjects of conversation that we think will interest others more than ourselves, and deny ourselves in various ways, that others may be obliged and gratified.  Now, the question is, are these mere idle and unmeaning forms?  Or is it right that we should feel as we act?  If they are unmeaning forms, then are the courtesies of social intercourse a series of acts most grossly hypocritical.  If not so, then it is right that we should prefer others to ourselves; and it is right for us, when we find that a friend is under a painful mistake—­even if to approach her may cause some sacrifice of our feelings—­for us to go to that friend and disabuse her mind of error.  Do you not think so, Louisa?”