“In English that is slang. It means that a person is too forward, too presuming, lacking in reserve and discretion.”
“The American is impulsive, but to me that is his charm. Having been in America, I know the Americans who come to France do not fairly represent the people of the country.”
Frank glowed.
“I am glad to hear you say that, monsieur!” he cried. “In England, America is judged by the Americans who come to London, much to the misfortune of my native land. The newly rich, the uncultured, the bores and the snobs of America rush to England and France as soon as possible, and they are taken to be representative Americans.”
“I know this is true, and I am glad to meet in France a representative American—outside the Latin Quarter. Monsieur, my card.”
Frank accepted the white bit of cardboard, on which was engraved:
“M. Edmond Laforce.”
“The Duke of Benoit du Sault!” exclaimed Merry, in surprise, looking up.
“Yes, monsieur,” bowed the Frenchman, lifting his eyebrows. “But how is it you know that?”
“Why, you know all America takes a great interest in the Dreyfus case, with which you have been concerned, or, at least, with which newspaper reports have connected you.”