“Brutally speaking—yes!”
Bellegarde had hesitated a moment, and while he hesitated Newman’s attentive glance had grown somewhat eager. In answer to these last words he for a moment said nothing. He simply blushed a little. Then he raised his eyes to the ceiling and stood looking at one of the rosy cherubs that was painted upon it. “Of course I don’t expect to marry any woman for the asking,” he said at last; “I expect first to make myself acceptable to her. She must like me, to begin with. But that I am not good enough to make a trial is rather a surprise.”
Bellegarde wore a look of mingled perplexity, sympathy, and amusement. “You should not hesitate, then, to go up to-morrow and ask a duchess to marry you?”
“Not if I thought she would suit me. But I am very fastidious; she might not at all.”
Bellegarde’s amusement began to prevail. “And you should be surprised if she refused you?”
Newman hesitated a moment. “It sounds conceited to say yes, but nevertheless I think I should. For I should make a very handsome offer.”
“What would it be?”
“Everything she wishes. If I get hold of a woman that comes up to my standard, I shall think nothing too good for her. I have been a long time looking, and I find such women are rare. To combine the qualities I require seems to be difficult, but when the difficulty is vanquished it deserves a reward. My wife shall have a good position, and I’m not afraid to say that I shall be a good husband.”
“And these qualities that you require—what are they?”
“Goodness, beauty, intelligence, a fine education, personal elegance—everything, in a word, that makes a splendid woman.”