THE AMERICAN
"Just as you please," his young friend placidly returned. "I don't depend on you, nor does M. de Bellegarde either. He's very much interested in me, he can be left to his own devices. He's a contrast to you, monsieur," Noémie went on with a fine little flight of dignity.
"Oh, he's a great contrast to me, I've no doubt," said Newman. "But I don't exactly know how you mean it."
"I mean it in this way. First of all he never offered to help me to a dot and a husband." And Mademoiselle Nioche expressively paused. "I won't say that's in his favour, for I do you justice. What led you, by the way, to make me such a monstrous offer? You did n't care for me."
"Oh yes—I did," said Newman.
"Well, how much?"
"It would have given me real pleasure to see you married to a respectable young fellow."
"With six thousand francs of income!" Noémie cried. "Do you call that caring for me? I'm afraid you know little about women. You were not galant; you were not what you might have been."
Newman flushed a trifle fiercely. "I say!" he exclaimed, "that's rather strong. I had no idea I had been so shabby."
She laughed out as she took up her muff—it was almost her only hint of vulgarity. "It's something at any rate to have made you angry."
Her father had leaned both his elbows on the table, and his head, bent forward, was supported on his hands, the thin white fingers of which were
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