THE AMERICAN
The mirror descended low and yet reflected nothing but a large unclad flesh-surface. Its possessor put her hands behind her and gave a downward pull to the waist of her dress. "Like that, you mean?"
"That's a little better," said Valentin in the same tone, "but it leaves a good deal to be desired."
"Oh, I never go to extremes." And then turning to Madame de Bellegarde, "What were you calling me just now, madame?" her daughter-in-law enquired.
"I called you a gadabout. But I might call you something else too."
"A gadabout? What an ugly word! What does it mean?"
"A very beautiful lady," Newman ventured to say, seeing that it was in French.
"That's a pretty compliment but a bad translation," the young Marquise returned. After which, looking at him a moment: "Do you dance?"
"Not a step."
"You lose a great deal," she said simply. And with another look at her back in the mirror she turned away.
"Do you like Paris?" asked the old lady, who was apparently wondering what was the proper way to talk to an American.
"I think that must be the matter with me," he smiled. And then he added with a friendly intonation: " Don't you like it?"
"I can't say I know it. I know my house—I know my friends—I don't know Paris."
"You lose a great deal, as your daughter-in-law says," Newman replied.
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