THE AMERICAN
her, it's bad policy to go into details. I won't exaggerate, I simply recommend her. Among all the women I've known she stands alone; she's of a different clay."
"I should like to see her," said Newman simply.
"I'll try to manage it. The only way will be to invite her to dinner. I've never invited her before, and I'm not sure she'll be able to come. Her old feudal countess of a mother rules the family with an iron hand and allows her to have no friends but of her own choosing and to visit only in a certain sacred circle. But I can at least invite her."
At this moment Mrs. Tristram was interrupted; a servant stepped out upon the balcony and announced that there were visitors in the drawing-room. When she had gone in to receive her friends Tom Tristram approached his guest.
"Don't put your foot into this, my boy," he said, puffing the last whiffs of his cigar. "There's nothing in it!"
Newman eyed him with oblique penetration. "You tell another story, eh?"
"I say simply that Madame de Cintré's a great white doll of a woman and that she cultivates quiet haughtiness."
"Ah, she's really haughty, eh?"
"She looks at you as if you were so much thin air, and blows you away as easily."
"She's really proud, eh?" Newman pursued with interest.
"Proud? As proud as they make em over here."
"And not good-looking?"
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