"Look here," she said abruptly, "you're sure to think that everything I've done is wrong, but it's no use your saying so."
"I won't say so."
"Well, then—that day, you know, after I saw you at the Bête—Madame Gautier didn't come to fetch me, and I waited, and waited, and at last I went to her flat, and she was dead,—and I ought to have telegraphed to my step-father to fetch me, but I thought I would like to have one night in Paris first—you know I hadn't seen Paris at all, really."
"Yes," he said, trying not to let any anxiety into his voice. "Yes—go on."
"And I went to the Café d'Harcourt—What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"I thought it was where the art students went. And I met a girl there, and she was kind to me."
"What sort of a girl? Not an art student?"
"No," said Betty hardly, "she wasn't an art student. She told me what she was."
"Yes?"