You were not galant; you were not what you might have been." Newman flushed a trifle fiercely.

"Come!" he exclaimed "that's rather strong.

I had no idea I had been so shabby." Mademoiselle Nioche smiled as she took up her muff.

"It is something, at any rate, to have made you angry." Her father had leaned both his elbows on the table, and his head, bent forward, was supported in his hands, the thin white fingers of which were pressed over his ears.

In his position he was staring fixedly at the bottom of his empty glass, and Newman supposed he was not hearing.
Mademoiselle Noemie buttoned her furred jacket and pushed back her chair, casting a glance charged with the consciousness of an expensive appearance first down over her flounces and then up at Newman.
"You had better have remained an honest girl," Newman said, quietly.
M.Nioche continued to stare at the bottom of his glass, and his daughter got up, still bravely smiling.