With a smothered exclamation Jaqueline got to her feet, squeezed with brisk violence past the fleshy knees, and made her way, pink with rage, toward the rear of the car. There she seized a strap, and there she was presently joined by her husband in a state of considerable alarm.
They exchanged no word, but stood silently side by side for ten minutes while a row of men sitting in front of them crackled their newspapers and kept their eyes fixed virtuously upon the day's cartoons.
When they left the car at last Jaqueline exploded.
"You big fool!" she cried wildly. "Did you see that horrible woman you gave your seat to? Why don't you consider me occasionally instead of every fat selfish washwoman you meet?"
"How should I know——"
But Jaqueline was as angry at him as she had ever been—it was unusual for any one to get angry at him.
"You didn't see any of those men getting up for me, did you? No wonder you were too tired to go out last Monday night. You'd probably given your seat to some—to some horrible, Polish washwoman that's strong as an ox and likes to stand up!"
They were walking along the slushy street stepping wildly into great pools of water. Confused and distressed, Mather could utter neither apology nor defense.
Jaqueline broke off and then turned to him with a curious light in her eyes. The words in which she couched her summary of the situation were probably the most disagreeable that had ever been addressed to him in his life.
"The trouble with you, Jim, the reason you're such an easy mark, is that you've got the ideas of a college freshman—you're a professional nice fellow."