Chapter XII - Page 2

and hurt were beneath him. He had seen a great vision and was as a
god, and he could feel only profound and awful pity for this maggot
of a man. He did not look at him, and though his eyes passed over
him, he did not see him; and as in a dream he passed out of the
room to dress. It was not until he had reached his own room and
was tying his necktie that he became aware of a sound that lingered
unpleasantly in his ears. On investigating this sound he
identified it as the final snort of Bernard Higginbotham, which
somehow had not penetrated to his brain before.

As Ruth's front door closed behind them and he came down the steps
with her, he found himself greatly perturbed. It was not unalloyed
bliss, taking her to the lecture. He did not know what he ought to
do. He had seen, on the streets, with persons of her class, that
the women took the men's arms. But then, again, he had seen them
when they didn't; and he wondered if it was only in the evening
that arms were taken, or only between husbands and wives and
relatives.

Just before he reached the sidewalk, he remembered Minnie. Minnie
had always been a stickler. She had called him down the second
time she walked out with him, because he had gone along on the
inside, and she had laid the law down to him that a gentleman
always walked on the outside - when he was with a lady. And Minnie
had made a practice of kicking his heels, whenever they crossed
from one side of the street to the other, to remind him to get over
on the outside. He wondered where she had got that item of
etiquette, and whether it had filtered down from above and was all
right.

It wouldn't do any harm to try it, he decided, by the time they had
reached the sidewalk; and he swung behind Ruth and took up his
station on the outside. Then the other problem presented itself.
Should he offer her his arm? He had never offered anybody his arm
in his life. The girls he had known never took the fellows' arms.
For the first several times they walked freely, side by side, and
after that it was arms around the waists, and heads against the
fellows' shoulders where the streets were unlighted. But this was
different. She wasn't that kind of a girl. He must do something.

He crooked the arm next to her - crooked it very slightly and with
secret tentativeness, not invitingly, but just casually, as though
he was accustomed to walk that way. And then the wonderful thing
happened. He felt her hand upon his arm. Delicious thrills ran
through him at the contact, and for a few sweet moments it seemed
that he had left the solid earth and was flying with her through
the air. But he was soon back again, perturbed by a new
complication. They were crossing the street. This would put