And when I do it for him because he can't do it for himself, he calls it by an ugly name!" Then it occurred to her that the world tells lies every day,--telling on the whole much more lies than truth,--but that the world has wisely agreed that the world shall not be accused of lying.

One doesn't venture to express open disbelief even of one's wife; and with the world at large a word spoken, whether lie or not, is presumed to be true of course,--because spoken.

Jones has said it, and therefore Smith,--who has known the lie to be a lie,--has asserted his assured belief, lying again.

But in this way the world is able to live pleasantly.
How was she to live pleasantly if her husband accused her of vulgarity?
Of course it was all vulgar, but why should he tell her so?
She did not do it from any pleasure that she got from it.
The letters remained long unwritten, and then there came a moment in which she resolved that they should not be written.

The work was very hard, and what good would come from it?
Why should she make her hands dirty, so that even her husband accused her of vulgarity?
Would it not be better to give it all up, and be a great woman, une grande dame, of another kind,--difficult of access, sparing of her favours, aristocratic to the backbone,--a very Duchess of duchesses?
The role would be one very easy to play.