Babcock had related this incident to
Newman, and our hero had applied an epithet of an unflattering sort to
the young girl. The next day his companion asked him whether he was
very sure he had used exactly the right word to characterize the young
architect's mistress. Newman stared and laughed. "There are a great many
words to express that idea," he said; "you can take your choice!"
"Oh, I mean," said Babcock, "was she possibly not to be considered in a
different light? Don't you think she really expected him to marry her?"
"I am sure I don't know," said Newman. "Very likely she did; I have no
doubt she is a grand woman." And he began to laugh again.
"I didn't mean that either," said Babcock, "I was only afraid that I
might have seemed yesterday not to remember--not to consider; well, I
think I will write to Percival about it."
And he had written to Percival (who answered him in a really impudent
fashion), and he had reflected that it was somehow, raw and reckless in
Newman to assume in that off-hand manner that the young woman in Paris
might be "grand." The brevity of Newman's judgments very often shocked
and discomposed him. He had a way of damning people without farther
appeal, or of pronouncing them capital company in the face of
uncomfortable symptoms, which seemed unworthy of a man whose conscience
had been properly cultivated.
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