In some subtle way it humiliated her; for she looked back into
the past, and saw herself therein a dupe to this man.
"No!" she cried, and her raised voice had a sudden twang in
it--suggestive of the streets; of the People. "No--you needn't trouble to
make soft eyes at me. I know you now--I know that what that man said was
true. He called you a coward and a cad. You are worse! You are a Jew--a
mean, lying Jew."
There are few greater trials to a man's dignity than vituperation from
the lips of a woman. She walked towards him, clumsily, menacingly and
raised her hand as if to strike him.
Seymour Michael's brown face turned yellow beneath her blazing anger.
"Sit down!" he commanded, "and don't make a fool of yourself."
He was mean enough to pay her back in her own coin--the paltry,
loud-ringing coin which is all that a woman has.
"I do not mean to wrangle," he said coolly; "but I may as well tell you
now that I never cared a jot for you. I was laughing at you in my sleeve
all the time.
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