"'It was clever of you to recognise me by my nose,' he said. 'But the Casamonas have been proud of their noses for so long that I, the last of them, find it a little hard to have to conceal mine even for a few minutes. And as for my moustache, to the absence of which you referred so pointedly, that has been gone for some time. That portrait of me which you saw was painted a long time ago, and since then I have become subject to colds in the head. And I found that my _moustachios_ became frequently _mal-soignés_ after the continual application, however delicate, of a handkerchief. I begin to concede that there may, after all, be some defence for that "tooth-brush" parody of a moustache which you, _par exemple_, can so charmingly affect.' "No, he wasn't laughing at me. He was just talking courteously on about whatever had come first. But I couldn't bear it. "'Eh--about that little matter,' I said absurdly, feeling more and more like a tradesman. "'Yes, of course,' he instantly agreed. He drained his glass, put it delicately down on the table, and then turned to me. "'If you will forgive a pointed question--did you keep your promise not to look where the house was?' "I had given up being irritated, it was so clearly no use. "'Of course I did.' I answered abruptly. "'Good! How charming it is to meet in life what one is tired of meeting in books--for you are exactly like the English gentlemen in Mr. Oppenheim's novels who always lose secret documents and find beautiful wives. I envy them, and you--but oh, my dear sir, I do wish you were a little more wicked and human!' "'Are you complaining of my being too good!' I burst out, amazed. "He saw the point, and for the first time really laughed.