Slander: on not Being Quick to Put Faith in it (23-24)

The saddest thing of all is that the slandered man, unaware of all that has taken place, meets his friend cheerfully, not being conscious of any misdeed, and speaks and acts in his usual manner, when he is beset on every side, poor fellow, with lurking foes. The other, if he is noble, gentlemanly, and outspoken, at once lets his anger burst out and vents his wrath, and then at last, on permitting a defence to be made, finds out that he was incensed at his friend for nothing.

But if he is ignoble and mean he welcomes him and smiles at him out of the corner of his mouth, while all the time he hates him and secretly grinds his teeth and broods, as the poet says[*] on his anger. Yet nothing, I think, is more unjust or more contemptible than to bite your lips and nurse your bitterness, to lock your hatred up within yourself and nourish it, thinking one thing in the depths of your heart and saying another, and acting a very eventful tragedy, full of lamentation, with a jovial comedy face.

Men are more liable to act in this way when the slanderer has long seemed to be a friend of the person slandered, and yet does what he does.