“Oh,” said Newman, “I am no judge. If you are proud with me, you will have to tell me. Otherwise I shall not know it.”
Madame de Cintré began to laugh. “That would be pride in a sad position!” she said.
“It would be partly,” Newman went on, “because I shouldn’t want to know it. I want you to treat me well.”
Madame de Cintré, whose laugh had ceased, looked at him with her head half averted, as if she feared what he was going to say.
“Mrs. Tristram told you the literal truth,” he went on; “I want very much to know you. I didn’t come here simply to call to-day; I came in the hope that you might ask me to come again.”
“Oh, pray come often,” said Madame de Cintré.
“But will you be at home?” Newman insisted. Even to himself he seemed a trifle “pushing,” but he was, in truth, a trifle excited.
“I hope so!” said Madame de Cintré.
Newman got up. “Well, we shall see,” he said smoothing his hat with his coat-cuff.
“Brother,” said Madame de Cintré, “invite Mr. Newman to come again.”