“Perhaps it is your accent. And what do you wish to say to me, Monsieur?” It was a voice of quality; all the anger had gone from it. She leaned on her elbows, her chin in her palms, and through the veil he caught the sparkle of a pair of wonderful eyes. “Let us converse in English,” she added. “It is so long since I have had occasion to speak in that tongue.” She repeated her question.
“O, I had no definite plan outlined,” he answered; “just generalities, with the salt of repartee to season.” He pondered over this sudden transition from wrath to mildness. An Englishman? Very well; it might grow interesting.
“Is it customary among the English to request to speak to strangers without the usual formalities of an introduction?”
“I can not say that it is,” he answered truthfully enough; “but the procedure is never without a certain charm and excitement.”
“Ah; then you were led to address me merely by the love of adventure?”
“That is it; the love of adventure. I should not have spoken to you had you not worn the veil.” He remarked that her English was excellent.
“You differ from the average Englishman, who is usually wrapt up in himself and has no desire to talk to strangers. You have been a soldier.”
The evolutions of his cane ceased. “How in the world did you guess that?” surprised beyond measure.
“Perhaps there is something suggestive in your shoulders.”
He tried to peer behind the veil, but in vain. “Am I speaking to one I have met before?”