Something about her air, her carriage, her attire I know not what, but it was there suggested the caste of Vere de Vere, aristocrat to the finger-tips. And withal so sweet, so sympathetic, so gentle. The way she was gazing down at me proved that.
“You speak English?” She asked the simple question in a voice which fell like music on my ears. I had had no notion that the human voice was capable of such delicate modulation. Something in her words, her voice, her look, served to stiffen my backbone, to rouse me from my state of semi-stupor.
“I not only speak English,” I told her, “but I am English.” I sat more upright in my chair.
“English? You are English? How can that be?”
“Since my father and mother were English, and I was born in England, I do not see how it can help but be.”
“You hav
