brethren in their corner, unaccompanied by _their_ wives; and he
delivered his apology for _his_ wife with the air of a man who
felt unaffectedly ashamed of it:

"Mrs. C is so sorry. She has got such a bad cold. She does so
regret not being able to accompany me."

At this third apology, Mr. Germaine's indignation forced its way
outward into expression in words.

"Two bad colds and one bad headache," he said, with ironical
politeness. "I don't know how your wives agree, gentlemen, when
they are well. But when they are ill, their unanimity is
wonderful!"

The dinner was announced as that sharp saying passed his lips.

I had the honor of taking Mrs. Germaine to the dining-room. Her
sense of the implied insult offered to her by the wives of her
husband's friends only showed itself in a trembling, a very
slight trembling, of the hand that rested on my arm. My interest
in her increased tenfold. Only a woman who had been accustomed to
suffer, who had been broken and disciplined to self-restraint,
could have endured the moral martyrdom inflicted on her as _this_
woman endured it, from the beginning of the evening to the end.

Am I using the language of exaggeration when I write of my
hostess in these terms? Look at the circumstances as they struck
two strangers like my wife and myself.