"It is the little things of this life, my friend, which often disturb a
mental balance which is always poised to receive great shocks. The
gnat-bites and mosquito buzzings are sometimes harder to bear than an
operation with a surgeon's knife."

I looked triumphantly at Jimmie as Doctor Nordau said that, for Jimmie
never has got over it that I once dragged the whole party off a train
and made them wait until the next one, because the wheels of our railway
carriage squeaked. But Jimmie's mind is open to persuasion, especially
from one whose opinions he admires as he admires Max Nordau's, for he
looked at me with more tolerance, as he said:

"It is the nervous organisation, I suppose. She can bear neuralgia for
days at a time which would drive me crazy in an hour, but I've seen her
burst into tears because a door slammed."

"Exactly so!" said Doctor Nordau. "I understand perfectly."

"Now, I never hear such noises," pursued Jimmie. "But I suppose there
must be _some_ difference between you both, who can write books, and me,
who can't even write a letter without dictating it!"

Soon after this we came away, Jimmie beaming with delight over one idol
who had not tumbled from his pedestal at a near view.

We were still in the midst of the Paris season. It was very gay and Bee
and Mrs. Jimmie had made some amiable friends among the very smartest of
the Parisian smart set. When we went to tea or dinner with these people
Jimmie and I had to be dragged along like dogs who are muzzled for the