THE AMERICAN
"Oh, I give you up," said Newman. "You're sunk in depravity and don't know the light when you see it."
"No, it's only this. There's a young man in the box whom I shall worry by going in, and I really want to worry him."
"Why, you cold-blooded calculating wretch!" Newman cried. "Can't you give the poor devil a chance?"
"No, he has trod with all his weight on my toes. The box is not his; Noémie came alone and installed herself. I went and spoke to her, and in a few moments she asked me to go and get her fan from the pocket of her cloak, which the greedy ouvreuse had carried off, with her eye to a fee, instead of hanging it up on a peg. In my absence a gentleman came in and took the chair beside her in which I had been sitting. My reappearance put him out, and he had the grossness to show it. He came within an ace of being impertinent. I don't know who he is—a big hard-breathing red-faced animal. I can't think where she picks up such acquaintances. He has been drinking too, but he knows what he's about. Just now, in the second act, the brute did unmistakeably betray an intention. I shall put in another appearance for ten minutes—time enough to give him an opportunity to commit himself if he feels inclined. I really can't let him suppose he's keeping me out of the box."
"My poor dear boy," said Newman remonstrantly, "why should n't he have his good time? You're not going to pick a quarrel about such an article as that, I hope."
348
