“Her veil, either accidentally or of design, dropped again over her face as she turned it towards me. I knew that she was scrutinising me with a woman’s intuitive insight, and I tried to look as guileless and respectful as I am sure I felt. In a moment she asked:
“‘Monsieur est-il Français?’
“‘I’m an Englishman,’ I answered, blushing a little, I dare say, at her implied criticism of my imperfect accent.
“‘Oh, I am glad! I, too, am almost English—I am American. But I don’t know how I can be helped, really!’
“‘Some friend has missed an appointment——?’
“‘Yes, indeed! Oh dear! it’s worse than that. It’s my father.’
“‘You were going by the train——’
“‘There has been some stupid mistake. I’m sure I don’t know what I shall do. We had arranged to start at ten o’clock this morning, and I started first, because I wanted to do some shopping on the way down. I understood that we were to rendezvous here. But he did not come at ten, and I sent a dientsman to the hotel; and now he has brought word from the hotel-keeper that papa started by the ten o’clock steamboat. I had not understood that it was to be the steamboat, you see; and I’m left here all alone.’
“‘But if you took the next train, you would still arrive two or three hours before him; that is—may I ask where you were going?’