reaction to them is intensified. In the "Arabian Nights" the princess
boasts that a rose petal bruises her skin, while her competitor in
delicacy is made ill by a fiber of cotton in her silken garments. So
with the hyperæsthetic; an unintentional overlooking is reacted to as a
deadly insult; the thwarting of any desire robs life of its savor;
sounds become noises; a bit of litter, dirt; a little reality,
intolerable crudity.

A woman with this temperament is a poor candidate for matrimony unless
there goes with it a capacity for adjustment, unusual in this type. Most
men have their habitual crudities, their daily lapses, and every home is
the theater of a constant struggle with the disagreeable. Intensely
pleased by the utmost refinements, these are too uncommon to make up for
the shortcomings. The hyperæsthetic woman is constantly the prey of the
most deënergizing of emotions,--disgust. "It makes me sick" is not an
exaggerated expression of her feeling. And her afflicted household size
up the situation with the brief analysis, "Everything makes her
nervous." Every one in her household falls under the tyranny of her
disposition, mingling their concern with exasperation, their pity with a
silent almost subconscious contempt.

Next comes the over-conscientious type. Whatever conscience is, whether
implanted by God, or the social code sanctified by training, teaching,
and a social nature, there can be no question that, as the Court of
Appeals, it does harm as well as good.

There are people whose lack of conscience is back of all manner of
crimes, from murder down to careless, slack work; whose cruelty, lust,
and selfishness operate unhampered by restraint. On the other hand there
are others whose hypertrophied conscience works in one of two