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——”
“I shouldn’t have minded you in a business suit! Just goes to show how little you Forges understand women! But we’ll let the dinner clothes pass. Oh, Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!” The last word was almost a hysterical shriek.