"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." Maurice was not so pleased as he might have been.

His ears burned.
Still, he went forward bravely.