ill haunt me."

"I am doomed to haunt you, then. If I should lift the corner of my veil
something terrible would happen."

"What! Are you as beautiful as that?"

There was a flash of teeth behind the veil, followed by the ripple of
soft laughter. "It is difficult to believe you to be English. You are
more like one of those absurd Americans."

Maurice did not like the adjective. "I am one of them," wondering what
the effect of this admission would be. "I am not English, but of the
brother race. Forgive me if I have imposed on you, but it was your
fault. You said that I was English, and I was too lonesome to enlighten
you."

"You are an American?" She began to tap her gloved fingers against the
table.

"Yes."

Then, to his astonishment, she gave way to laughter, honest and hearty.
"How dense of me not to have known the moment you addressed me! Who
but the American holds in scorn custom's formalities and usages? Your
grammar is good, so good that my mistake is pardonable. The American is
always like the terrible infant; and you are a choice example."

Maurice was not so pleased as he might have been. His ears burned.
Still, he went forward bravely. "A man never pretends to be an
Englishman without getting into trouble."

"I did not ask to speak to you. No one ever pretends to be an American.
Why is it you are always ashamed of your country?" with malice
aforethought.

Maurice experienced the sting of many bees. "I see that your experience
is limited to impostors. I, Mademoiselle, am proud of my country, the
great, free land which stands aside from the turmoil and laughs at your
petty squabbles, your kings, your princes. Laugh at me; I deserve it for
not minding my own business, but do not laugh at my country." His face
was flushed; he was almost angry. It was not her words; it was the
contempt with which she had invested them. But immediately he was
ashamed of his outburst. "Ah, Mademoiselle, you have tricked me; you
have found the vulnerable part in my armor. I have spoken like a child.
Permit me to apologize for my apparent lack of breeding." He rose,
bowed, and made as though to depart.

"Sit down, Monsieur," she said, picking up her French again. "I forgive
you. I do more; I admire. I see that your freak had nothing behind it
but mischief. No woman need fear a man who colors when his country is
made the subject of a jest."

All his anger evaporated. This was an invitation, and he accepted it. He
resume