At Mrs. Cattermole's."
"Oh yes.... How is it you aren't out sight-seeing? Or is it
blessedly possible that you aren't a tripper--a tourist?"
"Why, I dunno." He hunted uneasily for the right answer.
"Not exactly. I tried a stunt--coming over on a cattle-boat."
"That's good. Much better."
She sat silent while, with enormous and self-betraying pains to
avoid detection, he studied her firm thin brilliantly red lips.
At last he tried:
"Please tell me something about London. Some of you English--
Oh, I dunno. I can't get acquainted easily."
"My dear child, I'm not English! I'm quite as American as
yourself. I was born in California. I never saw England till two
years ago, on my way to Paris. I'm an art student.... That's
why my accent is so perishin' English--I can't afford to be just
_ordinary_ British, y' know."
Her laugh had an October tang of bitterness in it.
"Well, I'll--say, what do you know about that!" he said, weakly.
"Tell me about yourself--since apparently we're now
acquainted.
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