"And came an awful cropper!"
She did not answer directly. "At first Francois was most reluctant to risk going with me," she went on. "I thought it odd, at the time, he should change so suddenly, become so brave. Now I understand, at least, a little—in a general way. I have been over-quick to think evil of you, ever since we met again. Perhaps, in the past, too"—slowly—"I have been—"
"Betty!" he cried uneasily, and seemed about once more to move away, when—
"Don't go," she said. "I'll not talk if you command me not to. You've been the master to-day, you know," with subtle accent.
"Have I?" His voice showed evidence of distress. "I didn't really mean—it was necessary," he ended firmly.
"Of course it was," said the girl. Her accent conveyed no note of displeasure. Profile-wise he saw her face now—the young moon beyond. "Don't think I'm blaming you. I'm not quite so hard, perhaps, as I once was." Mr. Heatherbloom stood back a little farther in the shadow. "Maybe, my poor little standard of judgment—" she stopped. "I have been heedless, heartless, perhaps—"
"You!" he exclaimed. "You!" There was only unfaltering adoration in his tone—faith, unchanged and unchangeable.
She spoke with a little catch in her voice: "Oh, I haven't cared. I did flirt with the prince; he accused me of that. He was right. What did it matter to me, if I made others suffer? I haven't always had so good a time as I seemed to—" There was a ring of passion in her tone now. "What happened?" she said, turning on him swiftly. "What has happened? I want to know all—"
"You mean about the prince?"
"I know all I want to know about him," scornfully. "I mean"—her slender figure bent toward Mr. Heatherbloom—"you! What has taken place, and why has it? What does it all mean? Don't you understand?"