THE AMERICAN
couleurs! But what's the matter—while I've been dreaming of her? Why did she go to Fleurières to-day? She never told me. What has happened? Ah, she ought to have guessed I'm here—in this bad way. It's the first time in her life she ever disappointed me. Poor, poor Claire!"
"You know we're not man and wife quite yet—your sister and I," said Newman. "She does n't yet account to me for all her actions." He tried to throw off this statement with grace, but felt how little the muscles of his face served him.
Valentin looked at him harder. "Have you two unimaginably quarrelled?"
"Never, never, never!" Newman exclaimed.
"How happily you say that!" said Valentin. "You're going to be happy—la-la!" In answer to this stroke of irony, none the less powerful for being so unconscious, all poor Newman could do was to give a helpless and ridiculous grin, for the conscious failure of which he then more ridiculously blushed. Valentin, still playing over him the fitful light of fever, presently said: "But something is the matter with you. I watched you just now; you have n't a bridegroom's face."
"My dear fellow," Newman desperately pleaded, "how can I show you a bridegroom's face? If you think I enjoy seeing you lie here and not being able to help you—!"
"Why, you're just the man to be jolly and—what do you call it?—to crow; don't forfeit your right to it! I 'm a proof of your wisdom. When was a man ever down when he could say 'I told you so!' You
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