THE AMERICAN
enough to make her, I dare say, one of the celebrities of the future."
"Lord o' mercy, you have sized her up! But don't—I must really ask it of you—let her quite run away with you," Newman went on. "I shall owe it to her good old father not to have upset her balance. For he's a real nice man."
"Oh, oh, oh, her good old father!" Valentin incorrigibly mocked. And then as his companion looked grave: "He expects her to assure his future."
"I thought he rather expected me! And don't you judge him, as a friend of mine," Newman asked, "too cruelly? He's as poor as a rat, but very high-toned."
"Why, mon cher, I should adore his tone, and you're right to do the same: it's much better than mine, and he'll do you more good as a companion, he 'll protect your innocence better, than ever I shall. I don't mean," Valentin explained, "that he would n't much rather his daughter were a good girl, that she remained as 'nice'-as worthy, that is, say, of your particular use—as he may himself remain. But all the same he won't, if the worst comes to the worst—well, he won't do what Virginius did. He does n't want her to be a failure—as why should he?—and if she is n't a failure it's plain she 'll be a success. On the whole he has confidence."
"He has touching fears, sir—I admit he has betrayed them to me." Newman felt himself loyally concerned to defend a character that had struck him as pleasingly complete—though completeness was, after all, what Valentin also claimed for it. The dif-
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