Nathan’s face burned. She was the same old Bernie. He might have known. He tried to appear at ease—although nothing the woman could have done would have made him more self-conscious—and he smoked for a moment in perturbed silence. She broke that silence by exclaiming angrily: “And I wish, as a favor to me, that you’d stop eating that cigar! And I’ll bet it cost five cents and came from Tom Edwards’ cigar store next to the newspaper office——” “It cost twenty cents,” defended Nat, with foolish ire. “I’m not going by the cost. I’m going by the smell! Just goes to show how much bringing up you’ve had. If you didn’t come from a small town, you’d know more than to drag out a heavy, offensive cigar in front of a lady; you’d smoke a delicate, gentlemanly cigarette.” “I don’t smoke cigarettes,” the other replied dully. “Well, you would if you weren’t a rube. Thank God I didn’t introduce you to those people I had in here last evening! I suppose you’d have pulled out one of those sickening cabbages and lighted up right in my drawing-room.” Unconsciously Nat’s eyes swept the apartment. It didn’t look like a drawing-room. Bernie’s tone suddenly softened. Perhaps it was the sudden misery and pain of self-consciousness in the man’s eyes. She leaned over with her elbows on her knees and the cigarette fumes bathing her colorless face. “Natie, tell me something. Hasn’t anybody ever broken the news to you what an awful hick you are—and have always been?” “N-N-No!” choked the young man. The woman regarded him gravely for a quarter moment. Then as though to herself she remarked: “Honestly, I almost think it’s my Christian duty, as a woman and a one-time friend of yours, to hold up a mirror in front of you and let you look at yourself properly.” Nathan arose, walked to the window and threw out the offensive cigar. “What did you do then?” cried Bernie hysterically. “Threw out my cigar, of course. You said you didn’t like it.” “Yes. But where did you throw it? Out of one of my windows—like a Polack at a drink-fest down by the railroad yards on a Sunday afternoon. Suppose there’s somebody down in the court that happens to know my window! What will they think of me, when my window opens and rains down nasty cigar butts? Oh, Nathan, in God’s name, where is your bringing up?” “I guess I haven’t had very—much,” the poor man choked. “You never said a truer thing in your life! And stop walking the floor! As though we were married and having a quarrel! Come and sit down quietly and _poised_—as a gentleman should—and let me show you how very impossible you are to a well-bred lady!” Nathan obediently returned to his chair. “In the first place, why did you come up here to-night in dinner clothes!—just for a social call when you knew I’d be in careless négligée myself?” “I didn’t know it. Anyhow, to wear a business suit——”