She stopped, confused, as he coloured to the roots of his hair.

“How long have you been in Paris?” she said at length.

“Three days,” he replied gravely.

“But⁠—but⁠—surely you are not a nouveau! You speak French too well!”

Then after a pause, “Really are you a nouveau?”

“I am,” he said.

She sat down on the marble bench lately occupied by Clifford, and tilting her parasol over her small head looked at him.

“I don’t believe it.”