The Principles and Practices of Seduction. Emily Hahn

Well-to-do man with slightly artistic tendencies; the sort that believes first in money, then in full enjoyment of it. His philosophy is practical but not too limited to material considerations; in other words, he talks well on almost any subject.

SUBJECT:

Slightly younger, but of the same breed. The families of the two protagonists have probably been friendly for two generations.

APPARATUS:

A restaurant: one of the more leisurely ones where the dishes do not rattle but an orchestra makes conversation just as difficult.

REMARKS:

The keynote of the approach is a tacit appreciation of intelligence on the part of the subject. This sympathetic attitude is very important. Think it all over carefully, put a flower in your buttonhole and go ahead.

I THINK YOU HAVE A GREAT CAPACITY FOR LIVING

You have reached the coffee and are putting up a brave fight against the orchestra before going out into the privacy of the street.

She: And we didn’t get home, after all, until two o’clock. I was so angry: it spoiled the evening.

You: Angry! I don’t think that you could ever be angry.

She: Oh, yes, you don’t know me at all. I have a dreadful temper.

You: Well, it doesn’t somehow fit in with my idea of you, you see. No, I must disagree with you. You haven’t a temper. It’s impossible for you to have a really earthly emotion.

She (somewhat irritated): Why, how can you say such a thing?

You: You’re a strangely aloof child, you know.

She (after a pleased little silence): That’s not nice of you.

You: Why not? It’s so nice of you, you know.

She: Oh, do you really think so? I’m sure I don’t try to be. No. … (with a charming smile)—you’re quite wrong. It’s the rest of them that are different. I’m really very normal.

You: Normal? Oh, my dear! And yet, after all, it’s not very funny. Perhaps it’s a tragedy.

She: What is?

You: Your attitude toward life.

She: Why, I have no attitude!

You: There you are; that’s just it. Someone of us mortals tries to tell you how we—how flesh-and-blood beings react to you, and you simply open those clear eyes of yours, and—well, how can I go on talking in the face of such bland ignorance?

She: Ignorance! Why I don’t. …

You: Oh, surely you know how ignorant you are? You must remain ignorant with deliberation. It’s part of your charm, of course, but … oh, how charming you could be, in another way!

She: Really. … (suddenly her voice warms and she leans a little over the table, talking eagerly) No, you’re perfectly right. I mean from your viewpoint, of course. One thing that you forget, though, is that I don’t feel the way that you and the rest of them do. I can’t really understand it myself, and yet … oh, all that sort of thing; emotion and all that; seems so … so messy.

You: Messy? My dear child, what sort of people can you have known?

She: Perfectly normal people, I assure you. No, it’s my own fault. It’s me, and I can’t help it. Emotion to me has always seemed—no thank you, just demi-tasse—seemed common. Not aristocratic. That’s rather a snide thing to say, isn’t it? I don’t mean to sound that way.

You: I know you don’t. (The music plays without competition for a moment). But how sad!

She: Sad? Oh no. I get along quite well. I’m really very happy, except once in a while. I’m as happy, that is, as you can possibly be for all your—your normality.

You: But what a strange way for an intelligent person like yourself to think! Have you no curiosity?

She: Oh, certainly. To an extent. But when curiosity conflicts with one’s disgusts. …

You: Disgusts? Now you are certainly wrong. It

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