“Is it possible you understand English, and have never spoken one word to me!” exclaimed Hamilton.
“I do not see anything extraordinary in that,” replied Hildegarde, smiling.
“You speak French so remarkably well, that I know you have a talent for languages. I dare say you speak English perfectly!”
“I cannot speak a word.”
“You have not had enough practice, perhaps, but you understand it when it is spoken.”
“Not a syllable.”
“Then may I ask you what you intend to do with this novel when I lend it to you?”
“Read it from daybreak until seven o’clock, and at night as long as my candle lasts,” replied Hildegarde, taking the book from him and looking at the title page.
“If you can read that book, and understand it, you must be able to speak a little,” observed Hamilton.
“I tell you I can neither speak nor understand English when it is spoken, and yet I can read this novel, if you will lend it to me, quite as well as if it were French or German.”