“American.”
“Oh. Then may I venture to converse with you in English?” She said it in exquisite English, entirely without accent.
“You are English!” he exclaimed under his breath.
“No ... I don’t know what I am.... Isn’t it charming out here? What particular view are you painting?”
“The Seine, yonder.”
She bent daintily over his sketch, holding up the skirts of her ball-gown.
“Your sketch isn’t very far advanced, is it?” she inquired seriously.
“Not very,” he smiled.
They stood there together in silence for a while, 21 looking out over the moonlit river to the misty, tree-covered heights.
Through lighted rows of open windows in the elaborate little villa across the lawn came lively music and the distant noise of animated voices.