I am humiliated when I recall all that I suffered, and all that she did.

I blush even now when I remember how she blew upon her soup, put her knife in her mouth, and picked her teeth with her shawl-pin.

What possessed her that she would persist in calling the waiter "Monsieur ?" And why, in Heaven's name, need she have clapped her hands when I ordered the champagne?
To say that I had no appetite--that I wished myself at the antipodes--that I longed to sink into my boots, to smother the waiter, or to do anything equally desperate and unreasonable, is to express but a tithe of the anguish I endured.

I bore it, however, in silence, little dreaming what a much heavier trial was yet in store for me..