But before I dropped into my chair every trace of anger vanished. My heart throbbed violently, my dazzled eyes surveyed my _serviette_. At my side was one of the most charming girls I had ever met. When the Heidsieck came, I raised my glass as in a dream, and silently drank to the glorious creature nearest my heart--on the left hand. We medicos are not easily upset by woman's beauty; we know too well what it is made of. But there was something so exquisite about this girl's face as to make a hardened materialist hesitate to resolve her into a physiological formula. It was not long before I offered to pass her the pepper. She declined with thanks and brevity. Her accent grated unexpectedly on my ear: I was puzzled to know why. I spoke of the rain that still tapped at the window, as if anxious to come in. "It was raining when I left Paris," she said; "but up till then I had a lovely time." Now I saw what was the matter. She suffered from twang and was American. I have always had a prejudice against Americans--chiefly, I believe, because they always seem to be having "a lovely time." It was with a sense of partial disenchantment that I continued the conversation: "So you have been in Paris?" I said, thinking of the old joke about good Americans going there when they die. "I must admit you look as if you had come from Heaven!" "So wretched as all that!" she retorted, laughing merrily. There was no twang in the laugh; it was a ripple of music. "I don't mean an exile from Heaven," I answered: "an excursionist, with a return-ticket." "Oh! but I'm not going back," she said, shaking her lovely head. "Not even when you die?" I asked, smiling. "I guess I shall need a warmer climate then!" she flashed back audaciously. "You're too good for that," I answered, without hesitation. I caught a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, as she answered: "Gracious! you're very spry at giving strange folks certificates." "It's my business to give certificates," I answered, smiling. "Marriage certificates, my lord?" she asked roguishly. I was about to answer "Doctors' certificates," but her last two syllables froze the words on my lips. "You--you--know me?" I stammered. "Yes, your lordship," with a mock bow. "Why--how--?" I faltered. "You've only just come." "Jones," she answered. "Jones!" I repeated, vexed. "Yes, my lord." He glided up and re-filled my glass. "Jones is a nuisance," I said, when he was out of earshot again. "Jones is a Britisher!" she said enigmatically. "Surely you don't mind people knowing who you are?" "I'm afraid I do," I replied uneasily. "I guess your reputation must be real shady," she said, with her American candour. "You English lords, we have just about sized you up in the States." "I--I--" I stammered. "No! don't tell me," she interrupted quickly; "I'd rather not know. My aunt here, that lady on my left,--she's a widow and half a Britisher, and respectable, don't you know,--will want me to cut you."