“Oh, then it’s no use—” 

 “She is not a beauty, but she is beautiful, two very different things. A beauty has no faults in her face, the face of a beautiful woman may have faults that only deepen its charm.” 

 “I remember Madame de Cintré, now,” said Tristram. “She is as plain as a pike-staff. A man wouldn’t look at her twice.” 

 “In saying that he would not look at her twice, my husband sufficiently describes her,” Mrs. Tristram rejoined. 

 “Is she good; is she clever?” Newman asked. 

 “She is perfect! I won’t say more than that. When you are praising a person to another who is to know her, it is bad policy to go into details. I won’t exaggerate. I simply recommend her. Among all women I have known she stands alone; she is of a different clay.” 

 “I should like to see her,” said Newman, simply. 

 “I will try to manage it. The only way will be to invite her to dinner. I have never invited her before, and I don’t know that she will come. Her old feudal countess of a mother rules the family with an iron hand, and allows her to have no friends but of her own choosing, and to visit only in a certain sacred circle. But I can at least ask her.” 

 At this moment Mrs. Tristram was interrupted; a servant stepped out upon the balcony and announced that there were visitors in the drawing-room. When Newman’s hostess had gone in to receive her friends, Tom Tristram approached his guest. 

 “Don’t put your foot into this, my boy,” he said, puffing the last whiffs of his cigar. “There’s nothing in it!” 

 Newman looked askance at him, inquisitive. “You tell another story, eh?” 

 “I say simply that Madame de Cintré is a great white doll of a woman, who cultivates quiet haughtiness.” 

 “Ah, she’s haughty, eh?” 

 “She looks at you as if you were so much thin air, and cares for you about as much.” 

 “She is very proud, eh?” 

 “Proud? As proud as I’m humble.” 

 Prev. P 35/316 next