"Yes," said Drake. "But how did you know that?"
"Your face and hands are so brown," she replied, with a frankness which was robbed of all offense by her placidity and unself-consciousness. "Nearly all the men one meets here are so colorless. I suppose it is because you have so little air and sun in London. At first, one is afraid that everybody is ill; but after a time one gets used to it."
Drake was amused and a little interested.
"Have the men in America so much color?" he asked.
"Well, how did you know I was an American?" she inquired, with a charming little air of surprise. "I suppose my speech betrayed me? That is so annoying. I thought I had almost entirely lost my accent."
"I don't know why you should want to lose it," said Drake, honestly enough. "It's five hundred times better than our London one!"
"I didn't say I wanted to exchange it for that," she remarked.
"Don't exchange it for any other, if I may be permitted to say so."
"That's very good of you," she said; "but isn't it rather like asking the leopard not to change his spots? And after all, I don't know why we shouldn't be as proud of our accent as you are of yours."
"I'm quite certain I'm not proud of mine," said Drake.