“I’ve brought you something, Bernie, that you might like to keep,” he said. And upon the table at her elbow he laid the little packet of childhood love letters. “For God’s sake, what’re those?” “The letters we wrote, Bernie, while we were boy-and-girl sweethearts in the graded school together.” Bernie dropped her cigarette. She had a bad time recovering it and the fire burned a small hole in the smock before she had done so. She swore. “But what the devil do you suppose I want of them now?” “I don’t know, Bernie. I thought perhaps they might mean something to you—little relics from the past, as I’ve always regarded them.” “You always were a sickly, sentimental fool, Nat. As for the past, the less we discuss it or think about it, the better I’ll be pleased. I’ve had trouble enough weaning myself ‘from the past.’ The present and future gives me bother enough, God knows. As for Paris, I hate it as I hate copperheads in a mangrove swamp. I’m done with it forever and never want to be dragged back into it again—not even to be buried.” “It’s your old home town, Bernie. You can’t get back of that.” “I don’t want any ‘old home town.’ I’ve risen above it. I was simply unlucky enough to be born in the little tank-burg, and that’s plenty. And as soon as possible I shook clear from it and all it stood for! I got over being a hick quite a while ago, Nathan. And I hate everything that reminds me of it as the devil hates holy water. I don’t want to have to think of the disgusting depths I’ve come up from.” “I’m sorry, Bernie.” “You’re not half so sorry as I am! Paris nearly did for me. Father and mother—especially mother!—ugh!” “What about your mother? You thought she was pretty classy once——” “Nathan Forge! Don’t say ‘classy’ or I’ll scream. More provincialism! ‘Classy’ was one of mother’s favorite words. The other was ‘blood.’ Blood! And for all her grand airs, she was cheap as dirt! But how could I know it until I got out in the world and had to suffer for it? And God, what a Golgotha it’s been! When I first married Wallace and was taken into his family, life was one long nightmare of ‘break’ after ‘break’ before his people. They were Real Blood. And they looked down on me—righteously—from the day he brought me home until the day I divorced him. I’ve had enough of vulgarians and lowbrows. I’ll have you know I’m a _lady_!” And in proof that she was a lady, Bernice lit another cigarette and inhaled the smoke. “I apologize, Bernice,” the man offered. “Oh, you needn’t apologize. Don’t depreciate yourself. That’s ‘hick’ too! And don’t sit sprawled out so, as though you didn’t know what to do with your hands and your feet. Paris is stamped all over you, from the cravat in your collar to the cut of your shoes. And yet Ted Thorne is sending you to the Orient to represent him! Oh, well, after all, he’s ‘hick’ too. Probably doesn’t know any better. It’s none of my business!”