"And how?"

"Well, _you_ don't wear a veil, if I do."

"You can read faces?"

"A little, I flatter myself. Can you?"

"Give me a chance of trying."

She raised her veil, and he inspected her for some moments, then
looked away.

"Excellently well, if God did all," he observed, with a smile.

"That's out of a play," she replied quickly. "I heard it a little
time ago, but I forget the answer. I'd have given anything to be
able to cap you! Then you'd have put me down for a clever woman, and
I should have lived on the reputation henceforth and for ever. But
it's all my own, indeed; I'm not afraid of crying."

"_Do_ you ever cry? I can't easily imagine it."

"Oh yes, sometimes," she answered, sighing, and at the same time
lowering her veil again. "But you haven't read my face for me."

"It's a face I'm sorry to have seen."

"Why?" she asked, holding her hands clasped before her, the palms
turned outwards.