Maurice, also rising. "I am a foreigner,
lonesome, unhappy, thousands of miles from home--"

"You are English?" suddenly. She stood with the knuckle of her
forefinger on her lips as if meditating. She sat down.

Maurice, greatly surprised, also sat down.

"English?" he repeated. His thought was: "What the deuce! This is the
third time I have been asked that. Who is this gay Lothario the women
seem to be expecting?" To her he continued: "And why do you ask me
that?"

"Perhaps it is your accent. And what do you wish to say to me,
Monsieur?" It was a voice of quality; all the anger had gone from it.
She leaned on her elbows, her chin in her palms, and through the veil
he caught the sparkle of a pair of wonderful eyes. "Let us converse in
English," she added. "It is so long since I have had occasion to speak
in that tongue." She repeated her question.

"O, I had no definite plan outlined," he answered; "just generalities,
with the salt of repartee to season." He pondered over this sudden
transition from wrath to mildness. An Englishman? Very well; it might
grow interesting.

"Is it customary among the English to request to speak to strangers
without the usual formalities of an introduction?"

"I can not say that it is," he answered truthfully enough; "but the
procedure is never without a certain charm and excitement."

"Ah; then you were led to address me merely by the love of adventure?"

"That is it; the love of adventure. I should not have spoken to you had
you not worn the veil." He remarked that her English was excellent.

"You differ from the average Englishman, who is usually wrapt up
in himself and has no desire to talk to strangers. You have been a
soldier."

The evolutions of his cane ceased. "How in the world did you guess
that?" surprised beyond measure.

"Perhaps there is something suggestive in your shoulders."

He tried to peer behind the veil, but in vain. "Am I speaking to one I
have met before?"

"I believe not; indeed, sir, I am positive."

"I have been a soldier, but my shoulders did not tell you that."

"Perhaps I have the gift of clairvoyance," gazing again toward the
entrance.

"Or perhaps you have been to Vienna."

"Who knows? Most Englishmen are, or have been, soldiers."

"That is true." Inwardly, "There's my friend the Englishman again. She's
guessing closer than she knows. Curious; she has mistaken me for some
one she does not know, if that is possible." He was somewhat in