Page:Hope-indiscretions of duchess.djvu/41



WALKED on at a leisurely pace; the heavy carriage was very near the top of the hill. In about three minutes’ time we met. There sat alone in the carriage a tall dark man, with a puffy white face, a heavy mustache, and stern cold eyes. He was smoking a cigar. I plucked my hat from my head and made as if to pass by.

“Who’s this?” he called out, stopping the carriage.

I began to recite my lesson in stumbling French.

“Why, what are you? Oh, you’re English! Then in Heaven’s name, speak English—not that gabble.” And then he repeated his order, “Speak English,” in English, and continued in that language, which he spoke with stiff formal correctness.

He heard my account of myself with unmoved face.

“Have you any writings—any testimonials?” he asked.

“No, my lord,” I stammered, addressing him in style I thought most natural to my assumed character.