“Ah, but I want to observe them,” said Newman. “Haven’t I as good a right as another? They don’t scare me, and you needn’t give me leave to violate them. I won’t take it.” 

 “That is not what I mean. I mean, observe them in your own way. Settle nice questions for yourself. Cut the knot or untie it, as you choose.” 

 “Oh, I am sure I shall never fumble over it!” said Newman. 

 The next time that he dined in the Avenue d’Iéna was a Sunday, a day on which Mr. Tristram left the cards unshuffled, so that there was a trio in the evening on the balcony. The talk was of many things, and at last Mrs. Tristram suddenly observed to Christopher Newman that it was high time he should take a wife. 

 “Listen to her; she has the audacity!” said Tristram, who on Sunday evenings was always rather acrimonious. 

 “I don’t suppose you have made up your mind not to marry?” Mrs. Tristram continued. 

 “Heaven forbid!” cried Newman. “I am sternly resolved on it.” 

 “It’s very easy,” said Tristram; “fatally easy!” 

 “Well, then, I suppose you do not mean to wait till you are fifty.” 

 “On the contrary, I am in a great hurry.” 

 “One would never suppose it. Do you expect a lady to come and propose to you?” 

 “No; I am willing to propose. I think a great deal about it.” 

 “Tell me some of your thoughts.” 

 “Well,” said Newman, slowly, “I want to marry very well.” 

 “Marry a woman of sixty, then,” said Tristram. 

 “‘Well’ in what sense?” 

 “In every sense. I shall be hard to please.” 

 “You must remember that, as the French proverb says, the most beautiful girl in the world can give but what she has.” 

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