Part 40 (2/2)

”What is the matter now?”

”The matter now is that I am a man again, and no more a fool than usual.

But I came within an inch of taking that girl au serieux.”

”You mean the young lady below stairs, in a baignoire in a pink dress?”

said Newman.

”Did you notice what a brilliant kind of pink it was?” Valentin inquired, by way of answer. ”It makes her look as white as new milk.”

”White or black, as you please. But you have stopped going to see her?”

”Oh, bless you, no. Why should I stop? I have changed, but she hasn't,”

said Valentin. ”I see she is a vulgar little wretch, after all. But she is as amusing as ever, and one MUST be amused.”

”Well, I am glad she strikes you so unpleasantly,” Newman rejoiced. ”I suppose you have swallowed all those fine words you used about her the other night. You compared her to a sapphire, or a topaz, or an amethyst--some precious stone; what was it?”

”I don't remember,” said Valentin, ”it may have been to a carbuncle! But she won't make a fool of me now. She has no real charm. It's an awfully low thing to make a mistake about a person of that sort.”

”I congratulate you,” Newman declared, ”upon the scales having fallen from your eyes. It's a great triumph; it ought to make you feel better.”

”Yes, it makes me feel better!” said Valentin, gayly. Then, checking himself, he looked askance at Newman. ”I rather think you are laughing at me. If you were not one of the family I would take it up.”

”Oh, no, I'm not laughing, any more than I am one of the family. You make me feel badly. You are too clever a fellow, you are made of too good stuff, to spend your time in ups and downs over that cla.s.s of goods. The idea of splitting hairs about Miss Nioche! It seems to me awfully foolish. You say you have given up taking her seriously; but you take her seriously so long as you take her at all.”

Valentin turned round in his place and looked a while at Newman, wrinkling his forehead and rubbing his knees. ”Vous parlez d'or. But she has wonderfully pretty arms. Would you believe I didn't know it till this evening?”

”But she is a vulgar little wretch, remember, all the same,” said Newman.

”Yes; the other day she had the bad taste to begin to abuse her father, to his face, in my presence. I shouldn't have expected it of her; it was a disappointment; heigho!”

”Why, she cares no more for her father than for her door-mat,” said Newman. ”I discovered that the first time I saw her.”

”Oh, that's another affair; she may think of the poor old beggar what she pleases. But it was low in her to call him bad names; it quite threw me off. It was about a frilled petticoat that he was to have fetched from the washer-woman's; he appeared to have neglected this graceful duty. She almost boxed his ears. He stood there staring at her with his little blank eyes and smoothing his old hat with his coat-tail. At last he turned round and went out without a word. Then I told her it was in very bad taste to speak so to one's papa. She said she should be so thankful to me if I would mention it to her whenever her taste was at fault; she had immense confidence in mine. I told her I couldn't have the bother of forming her manners; I had had an idea they were already formed, after the best models. She had disappointed me. But I shall get over it,” said Valentin, gayly.

”Oh, time's a great consoler!” Newman answered with humorous sobriety.

He was silent a moment, and then he added, in another tone, ”I wish you would think of what I said to you the other day. Come over to America with us, and I will put you in the way of doing some business. You have a very good head, if you will only use it.”

Valentin made a genial grimace. ”My head is much obliged to you. Do you mean the place in a bank?”

”There are several places, but I suppose you would consider the bank the most aristocratic.”

Valentin burst into a laugh. ”My dear fellow, at night all cats are gray! When one derogates there are no degrees.”

Newman answered nothing for a minute. Then, ”I think you will find there are degrees in success,” he said with a certain dryness.

Valentin had leaned forward again, with his elbows on his knees, and he was scratching the pavement with his stick. At last he said, looking up, ”Do you really think I ought to do something?”

Newman laid his hand on his companion's arm and looked at him a moment through sagaciously-narrowed eyelids. ”Try it and see. You are not good enough for it, but we will stretch a point.”

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