"Oh, I know it isn't," said Barbara.
"Well, I shouldn't be so sure of that if I were you," said Jimmy. "You're young, and you don't know men. You see them taking fancies to people, but perhaps after all there isn't much in it. This fellow may be thinking a great deal about you all the time; perhaps not liking to show it himself because you haven't given him any encouragement."
"Oh, no. I know he can't possibly care for me at all. Besides, it's all over now. I was rather weak, but I'm not any more."
"If this chap let you see that he was thinking about you, and was very glad to know that you were thinking about him in that way, I suppose it wouldn't be over, would it?"
"I think so, but I couldn't be certain till I got back."
"Got back! What do you mean? Got back where?"
"Why, to Paris. You see, I've had six weeks to get over it."
Jimmy stopped and looked at her sternly. "Do you mean to say, Barbara, that you've fallen in love with some ass of a fellow in Paris?" he asked.
"Oh, he wasn't an ass, Jimmy. He was a splendid-looking man. He was one of the Gardes Municipales who was on duty at the Opéra. I saw him three times. Before that it was one of the clergy at the English Church. Now I've begun I may as well tell you everything. Before that there was a driver of a fiacre who used to stand in the Place Saint Sulpice, but he was much too old—about sixty-five, I should think, and that didn't last long. Before that—oh, but I can't tell you any more. I'm glad I've made a clean breast of it, though. You understand it all, I know, and can make allowances."
"I can't make allowances for that sort of rotten business," said Jimmy stiffly. "You're the last girl I should have thought would have mucked about like that. If that's the way you behave yourself in Paris, I don't think you ought to be allowed to go back there."