THE AMERICAN
people—her monde; all mounted upon stilts a mile high and with pedigrees long in proportion. It's the skim of the milk of the old noblesse. Did you ever hear of such a prehistoric monster as a Legitimist or an Ultramontane? Go into Madame de Cintré's drawing-room some afternoon at five o'clock and you'll see the best-preserved specimens. I say go, but no one is admitted—to intimacy—who can't show good cause in the form of a family tree."
"And this is the lady you propose to me to marry?" asked Newman. "A lady I can't even approach?"
"But you said just now that you recognised no reasons against you."
Newman looked at Mrs. Tristram a while, stroking his moustache. "Is she a very great beauty?" he demanded.
She hung fire a little. "No."
"Oh then it's no use—!"
"She's not a very great beauty, but she's very, very beautiful; two quite different things. A beauty has no faults in her face; the face of a beautiful woman may have faults that only deepen its charm."
"I remember Madame de Cintré now," said Tristram. "She's as plain as a copy in a copy-book—all round o's and uprights a little slanting. She just slants toward us. A man of your large appetite would swallow her down without tasting her."
"In telling how little use he has for her my husband sufficiently describes her," Mrs. Tristram pursued.
"Is she good, is she clever?" Newman asked.
"She's perfect! I won't say more than that. When you're praising a person to another who's to know
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