"But what do they want to get out of that poor lady?" Newman asked.
"Another marriage. They are not rich, and they want to bring more money
into the family."
"There's your chance, my boy!" said Tristram.
"And Madame de Cintre objects," Newman continued.
"She has been sold once; she naturally objects to being sold again.
It appears that the first time they made rather a poor bargain; M. de
Cintre left a scanty property."
"And to whom do they want to marry her now?"
"I thought it best not to ask; but you may be sure it is to some horrid
old nabob, or to some dissipated little duke."
"There's Mrs. Tristram, as large as life!" cried her husband. "Observe
the richness of her imagination. She has not a single question--it's
vulgar to ask questions--and yet she knows everything. She has the
history of Madame de Cintre's marriage at her fingers' ends. She has
seen the lovely Claire on her knees, with loosened tresses and streaming
eyes, and the rest of them standing over her with spikes and goads and
red-hot irons, ready to come down on her if she refuses the tipsy duke.
The simple truth is that they made a fuss about her milliner's bill or
refused her an opera-box."
Newman looked from Tristram to his wife with a certain mistrust in each
direction. "Do you really mean," he asked of Mrs.
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