"I don't notice any ill effects."

"You say your health doesn't improve as rapidly as you hoped."

Check! She reddened with guilt and exasperation. "What a sly
trick!" thought she. She answered him with a cold: "I always have
read myself to sleep, and I fancy I always shall."

"If you went to sleep earlier," observed he, his air unmistakably
that of the victor conscious of victory, "you'd not keep me raging
round two or three hours for breakfast."

"How often I've asked you not to wait for me! I prefer to
breakfast alone, anyhow. It's the dreadful habit of breakfasting
together that causes people to get on together so badly."

"I'd not feel right," said he, moderately, but firmly, "if I
didn't see you at breakfast."

She sat silent--thinking. He felt what she was thinking--how
common this was, how "middle class," how "bourgeois," she was
calling it. "Bourgeois" was her favorite word for all that she
objected to in him, for all she was trying to train out of him by
what she regarded as most artistically indirect lessons. He felt
that their talk about his family, what he had said, had shown he
felt, was recurring to her. He grew red, burned with shame from
head to foot.

"What a fool, what a pup I was!" he said to himself. "If she had
been a real lady--no, by gad--a real WOMAN--she'd have shown that