“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.”