He would freely give his life to save her from hurt, but to be laughed at--Oh! Any man who was half a man would rather die heroically than be laughed at. To be the subject of amusing paragraphs in the sly evening papers! To be ironically complimented on his nerve--Oh! To become a by-word! To hear men at the clubs chuckle and whisper "Nigger!" and then chuckle again and say louder some word that had nothing to do with the matter! To be asked significantly if he felt better, and recommended tonics and a bracing climate! Oh! To see the hall-porter smile! To be asked by the waiter if he wished his coffee black! Oh! Oh! Oh!
"There's a cab at the end of the street," she said.
"So there is--a four-wheeler, too." He started at her voice, and then called the cab. "I cannot tell you how much I am ashamed of myself, for the third time to-day," he said to her.
"Of fainting?" she asked coldly, chillily.
"I could not help that. No! Not--not of fainting. I was ashamed of the fainting a few minutes ago. I was not thinking of that now. It was wrong of me to faint, no doubt."
"You could not help it, you know," she said coldly still.
"I could not help it then, but I should have taken precautions against anything of the kind by familiarizing myself with unpleasant and trying sights. No man ought to be a----"
"Woman," she said, finishing the sentence for him with an icy laugh. His want of consideration had exasperated her.
"Yes," he said gravely, "no man ought to be a woman."
"But which is it more like a woman, to faint at a hideous sight or run away from a paltry unpleasantness?"