THE AMERICAN
as if squeezing them dry. These, presumably, were tokens of violent emotion, and it struck him that the traces of a corresponding agitation were visible in Madame de Cintré. The two had been talking with extreme animation. "What I should tell you is only to milord's credit," said Madame de Cintré, however, with a clear enough smile.
"It would n't please him any better for that!" cried milord with his awkward laugh.
"Come; what's the mystery?" Newman demanded. "Clear it up. I don't like what I don't understand."
"We must have some things we don't like, and go without some we do," said the ruddy young nobleman, still almost unnaturally exhilarated.
"It's to Lord Deepmere's credit, but it's not to every one's," Madame de Cintré imperfectly explained. "So I shall say nothing about it. You may be sure," she added; and she put out her hand to the Englishman, who took it with more force than grace. "And now go and dance hard!" she said.
"Oh yes, I feel awfully like dancing hard! I shall go and drink champagne—as hard as I can!" And he walked away with a gloomy guffaw.
"What has happened between you?" Newman asked.
"I can't tell you—now," she said. "Nothing that need make you unhappy."
"Has that weak brother been trying to make love to you?"
She hesitated, then uttered a grave "No!—He's a perfectly honest young man."
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