“I don’t think of any of them but you.”
“That is because you dislike them. Speak the truth; you can’t offend me.”
“Well, I don’t exactly love your brother,” said Newman. “I remember now. But what is the use of my saying so? I had forgotten it.”
“You are too good-natured,” said Madame de Cintré gravely. Then, as if to avoid the appearance of inviting him to speak ill of the marquis, she turned away, motioning him to sit down.
But he remained standing before her and said presently, “What is of much more importance is that they don’t like me.”
“No—they don’t,” she said.
“And don’t you think they are wrong?” Newman asked. “I don’t believe I am a man to dislike.”
“I suppose that a man who may be liked may also be disliked. And my brother—my mother,” she added, “have not made you angry?”
“Yes, sometimes.”
“You have never shown it.”