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Newman continued to see his other good friends with scarce-diminished frequency, though if you had listened to Mrs. Tristram's account of the matter you would have supposed they had been cynically repudiated for the sake of grander acquaintance. "We were all very well so long as we had no rivals—we were better than nothing. But now that you've become the fashion and have your pick every day of three invitations to dinner, we're tossed into the corner. I'm sure it is very good of you to come and see us once a month; I wonder you don't send us your cards in an envelope. When you do, pray have them with black edges; it will be for the death of my last illusion." It was in this incisive strain she moralised over Newman's so-called neglect, which was in truth a most excellent constancy. Of course she was joking, but she embroidered with a sharp needle.
"I know no better proof that I've treated you very well," Newman had said, "than the fact that you make so free with my character. I've let you tweak my nose, I've allowed you the run of the animal's cage. If I had a little proper pride I 'd stay away a while and, when you should ask me to dinner, say I'm going to Princess Borealska's. But I have n't any pride where my pleasure's concerned, and to keep you in the humour to see me—if you must see me only to call me bad names—I 'll agree to any-
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