This candor did not disturb him. "The favor I ask is that you
will lift the corner of your veil; otherwise you will haunt me."

"I am doomed to haunt you, then. If I should lift the corner of
my veil something terrible would happen."

"What! Are you as beautiful as that?"

There was a flash of teeth behind the veil, followed by the
ripple of soft laughter. "It is difficult to believe you to be
English. You are more like one of those absurd Americans."

Maurice did not like the adjective. "I am one of them,"
wondering what the effect of this admission would be. "I am not
English, but of the brother race. Forgive me if I have imposed
on you, but it was your fault. You said that I was English, and
I was too lonesome to enlighten you."

"You are an American?" She began to tap her gloved fingers
against the table.

"Yes."

Then, to his astonishment, she gave way to laughter, honest and
hearty. "How dense of me not to have known the moment you
addressed me! Who but the American holds in scorn custom's
formalities and usages? Your grammar is good, so good that my
mistake is pardonable. The American is always like the terrible
infant; and you are a choice example."