Tristram.

Newman stood a moment, hesitating. Then at last "Don't forget about your
friend," he said, "Madame What's-her-name? the proud beauty. Ask her to
dinner, and give me a good notice." And with this he departed.

Some days later he came back; it was in the afternoon. He found Mrs.
Tristram in her drawing-room; with her was a visitor, a woman young and
pretty, dressed in white. The two ladies had risen and the visitor was
apparently taking her leave. As Newman approached, he received from
Mrs. Tristram a glance of the most vivid significance, which he was not
immediately able to interpret.

"This is a good friend of ours," she said, turning to her companion,
"Mr. Christopher Newman. I have spoken of you to him and he has an
extreme desire to make your acquaintance. If you had consented to come
and dine, I should have offered him an opportunity."

The stranger turned her face toward Newman, with a smile. He was not
embarrassed, for his unconscious sang-froid was boundless; but as he
became aware that this was the proud and beautiful Madame de Cintre,
the loveliest woman in the world, the promised perfection, the proposed
ideal, he made an instinctive movement to gather his wits together.
Through the slight preoccupation that it produced he had a sense of a
long, fair face, and of two eyes that were both brilliant and mild.

"I should have been most happy," said Madame de Cintre. "Unfortunately,
as I have been telling Mrs. Tristram, I go on Monday to the country."

Newman had made a solemn bow. "I am very sorry," he said.