"Didn't you even leave a card? That's not like your eyes."
"I think I sent a tub of hydrangeas or something, pour dire adieu."
"That was definite. Remember the date?"
"No," he said, remembering perfectly.
"Not the eleventh, was it? That was the day when you would get Betty's letter of rejection."
"It may have been the eleventh.—In fact it was."
"Ah, that's better! And the tenth—who let you out of your studio on the tenth? I've often wondered."
"I've often wondered who locked me in. It couldn't have been you, of course?"
"As you say. But I was there."
"It wasn't—?"