“You remind me of the heroes of the French romantic poets, Rolla and Fortunio and all those other insatiable gentlemen for whom nothing in this world was handsome enough.  But I see you are in earnest, and I should like to help you.”

“Who the deuce is it, darling, that you are going to put upon him?” Tristram cried.  “We know a good many pretty girls, thank Heaven, but magnificent women are not so common.”

“Have you any objections to a foreigner?” his wife continued, addressing Newman, who had tilted back his chair and, with his feet on a bar of the balcony railing and his hands in his pockets, was looking at the stars.

“No Irish need apply,” said Tristram.

Newman meditated a while.  “As a foreigner, no,” he said at last; “I have no prejudices.”

“My dear fellow, you have no suspicions!” cried Tristram.  “You don’t know what terrible customers these foreign women are; especially the ‘magnificent’ ones.  How should you like a fair Circassian, with a dagger in her belt?”

Newman administered a vigorous slap to his knee.  “I would marry a Japanese, if she pleased me,” he affirmed.

“We had better confine ourselves to Europe,” said Mrs. Tristram.  “The only thing is, then, that the person be in herself to your taste?”

“She is going to offer you an unappreciated governess!” Tristram groaned.

“Assuredly.  I won’t deny that, other things being equal, I should prefer one of my own countrywomen.  We should speak the same language, and that would be a comfort.  But I am not afraid of a foreigner.  Besides, I rather like the idea of taking in Europe, too.  It enlarges the field of selection.  When you choose from a greater number, you can bring your choice to a finer point!”

“You talk like Sardanapalus!” exclaimed Tristram.

“You say all this to the right person,” said Newman’s hostess.  “I happen to number among my friends the loveliest woman in the world.  Neither more nor less.  I don’t say a very charming person or a very estimable woman or a very great beauty; I say simply the loveliest woman in the world.”

“The deuce!” cried Tristram, “you have kept very quiet about her.  Were you afraid of me?”

“You have seen her,” said his wife, “but you have no perception of such merit as Claire’s.”

“Ah, her name is Claire?  I give it up.”

“Does your friend wish to marry?” asked Newman.

“Not in the least.  It is for you to make her change her mind.  It will not be easy; she has had one husband, and he gave her a low opinion of the species.”

“Oh, she is a widow, then?” said Newman.

“Are you already afraid?  She was married at eighteen, by her parents, in the French fashion, to a disagreeable old man.  But he had the good taste to die a couple of years afterward, and she is now twenty-five.”

“So she is French?”