"
This argument which was not only sagacious but true, overwhelmingly true,
unanswerably true, seemed to surprise her.
I wondered why. I did not know enough of her brother for the remotest
guess at what he might be like. I had never set eyes on the man. I
didn't know him so completely that by contrast I seemed to have known
Miss de Barral--whom I had seen twice (altogether about sixty minutes)
and with whom I had exchanged about sixty words--from the cradle so to
speak. And perhaps, I thought, looking down at Mrs. Fyne (I had remained
standing) perhaps she thinks that this ought to be enough for a sagacious
assent.
She kept silent; and I looking at her with polite expectation, went on
addressing her mentally in a mood of familiar approval which would have
astonished her had it been audible: You my dear at any rate are a sincere
woman . . . "
"I call a woman sincere," Marlow began again after giving me a cigar and
lighting one himself, "I call a woman sincere when she volunteers a
statement resembling remotely in form what she really would like to say,
what she really thinks ought to be said if it were not for the necessity
to spare the stupid sensitiveness of men.
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