“Little?” laughed I. “Why, they produce the most beautiful decorative effects. Life would be barren without them. What a repulsive sight the poor little human animal would be, grunting and grubbing about, thinking always of its beloved self—what a repulsive sight if it didn’t wear the flowers of high ideals in its ears—and the jewels of fine impulses ringed in its nose.”
“I think it would look better without them,” said he. “Less ridiculous—less contemptible.”
“To you—yes. Because you’re like I am—coarse. But not to itself and its fellows.”
“I’m going back to the woods to-morrow,” said he.
“Better come on a yachting trip to South America with me,” said I.
He flushed. “Thank you—but I can’t do that,” replied he. “I can’t afford it.”
It was my turn to flush. “I beg your pardon,” I said. “I spoke without thinking—spoke on impulse. You are quite right.”
“A man’s a fool or a sycophant who goes where he can’t pay his own way,” continued he. “I’ve come to realize that. I’ll do it no more. I’ll stick to my own class. I’ve been justly punished for blundering out of it. But not so severely punished as I should have been had my—” he smiled ironically—“my love affair prospered.”
He thought for several minutes, then he said: “I wonder—when the clash came—would I have gone with her or she with me?”
I did not reply.