She felt herself tongue-tied, and the hot blood rose to her
face. He was not looking at her, but she could not help fancying that he
knew her secret embarrassment. She hung her head and drew her veil down
so that it should hide even her mouth.
But her trouble increased with every moment, for each second made it
harder to break the silence. She sought madly for something to say,
and she knew that her cheeks were on fire. Anything would do, no
matter what. The sound of her own voice, uttering the commonest of
commonplaces, would restore her equanimity. But that simple, almost
meaningless phrase would not be found. She would stammer, if she tried
to speak, like a child that has forgotten its lesson and fears the
schoolmaster as well as the laughter of its schoolmates. It would be so
easy if he would say something instead of walking quietly by her side,
suiting his pace to hers, shifting his position so that she might step
upon the smoothest parts of the ill-paved street, and shielding her, as
it were, from the passers-by. There was a courteous forethought for her
convenience and safety in every movement of his, a something which a
woman always feels when traversing a crowded thoroughfare by the side of
a man who is a true gentleman in every detail of life, whether husband,
or friend, or chance acquaintance. For the spirit of the man who
is really thoughtful for woman, as well as sincerely and genuinely
respectful in his intercourse with them, is manifest in his smallest
outward action.
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