you, and she had gray eyes, and a nice voice,
and a laugh that was sweeter than the singing of nightingales. She was
monstrously clever, too, with a flow of language that would have made
her a leader in any sphere. She was also a perfect fiend. I have always
been anxious to meet her again, in order that I might ask her to marry
me. I'm strongly disposed to believe that she was you. Was she?" he
pleaded.

"If I say yes, will you at once proceed to ask me to marry you?" she
asked.

"Try it and see."

"_Ce n'est pas la peine._ It occasionally happens that a woman's already
got a husband."

"She said she was an old maid."

"Do you dare to insinuate that I look like an old maid?" she cried.

"Yes."

"Upon my word!"

"Would you wish me to insinuate that you look like anything so insipid
as a young girl? _Were_ you the woman of the black domino?" he
persisted.

"I should need further information, before being able to make up my
mind. Are the--what's their name?--Wohenheimer?--are the Wohenheimers
people one can safely confess to knowing? Oh, you're a man, and don't
count. But a woman? It sounds a trifle Jewish, Wohenheimer. But of
course there are Jews and Jews."

"You're playing with me like the cat in the adage," he sighed. "It's
too cruel. No one is responsible for his memory."

"And to think that this man took me down to dinner not two months ago!"
she murmured in her veil.

"You're as hard as nails. In whose house? Or--stay. Prompt me a little.
Tell me the first syllable of your name. Then the rest will come with a
rush."

"My name is Matilda Muggins."

"I've a great mind to punish your untruthfulness by pretending to
believe you," said he. "Have you really got a husband?"

"Why do you doubt it?" said she.

"I don't doubt it. Have you?"

"I don't know what to answer."

"Don't you know whether you've got a husband?" he protested.

"I don't know what I'd better let you believe. Yes, on the whole, I
think you may as well assume that I've got a husband," she concluded.

"And a lover, too?" he asked.

"Really! I like your impertinence!" she bridled.

"I only asked to show a polite interest. I knew the answer would be an
indignant negative. You're an Englishwoman, and you're _nice_. Oh, one
can see with half an eye that you're _nice_. But that a nice
Englishwoman should have a lover is as inconceivable as that she should
have side-whiskers. It's only the reg'lar bad-uns in England who have
lovers