"But there are other things just now,—to-day," he said, abruptly changing the subject; "and the worst thing——"
"The worst thing is money," she interrupted. "I have had 'the worst thing.' It happens every now and then. You need not hesitate."
"Worse yet," he continued, smiling in spite of himself at her conclusion.
"I can tell it in advance. It is the old story. Your love is not reciprocated,—you neglect your classes,—you fail in the exams,—you take to absinthe. Ah, çà!"
"Still worse, mon enfant."
"Ah! You play——"
"No. I never play. You are wrong only that once, mademoiselle."
He told her the truth. And she listened with the sage air of one who knows all about it and was ready with her decision.
"Monsieur Marot,"—she paused a second,—"you think I'm a bad girl——"
"Oh, don't be too sure of that. I——"