“No--honor bright.”
She looked me searchingly over, evidently communing with herself--adding up my points, then she said:
“Well, you don’t look like an Englishman, and that is true.” After a little she added, “The fact is, you don’t look like any foreigner--not quite like ... like anybody I’ve seen before. I will guess some more.”
She guessed every country whose name she could think of and grew gradually discouraged. Finally she said:
“You must be the Man Without a Country--the one the story tells about. You don’t seem to have any nationality at all. How did you come to come to America? Have you any kinfolks here?”
“Yes--several.”
“Oh, then you came to see them.”
“Partly--yes.”
She sat awhile, thinking, then:
“Well, I’m not going to give up quite yet. Where do you live when you are at home--in a city, or in the country?”