THE AMERICAN
"No," she returned after a moment, "they don't really like it."
"Well now, do you mind that?" he asked.
"Yes!" she said after another interval.
"But is n't that a mistake?"
"It may be, but I can't help it. I should prefer that my mother were pleased."
"Why the dickens then," he yearningly enquired, "is n't she pleased? She gave you leave to accept me."
"Very true; I don't understand it. And yet I do mind it, as you say. You 'll call that superstitious."
"That will depend on how much you let it worry you. Then I shall call it an awful bore."
"I'll keep it to myself," said Madame de Cintré. "It shall not, I promise, worry you." And they then talked of their marriage-day, and she assented unreservedly to his desire to have it fixed for an early date.
His messages by cable were answered promptly and with interest. Having despatched in reality but three of these, he received, for fruit of his investment, as he called it, no less than eight electrical outpourings, all concisely humorous, which he put into his pocketbook and, the next time he encountered Madame de Bellegarde, drew forth and displayed to her. This, it must be confessed, was a slightly malicious stroke; the reader will judge in what degree the offence was venial. He knew she would dislike his barbaric trophies, but he was himself possessed by a certain hardness of triumph. Madame de Cintré, on the other hand, quite artlessly, quite touchingly admired them, and, most of them being of a wit quainter than
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