"Who is the young man with whom you were talking?"
Betty's eyes opened widely.
"I don't know." Her hand had flown to her breast and chance directed her fingers to the little brooch she wore. On a swift inspiration she added: "I dropped my scarab and he came along and found it for me. I thanked him, naturally."
Mrs. Atterbury hesitated eying the girl's candid face keenly.
"You did not enter into conversation with him? He asked you no personal questions, did not seek to draw you out about yourself?" The wrath had given place to a cautious repressed note, and Betty took instant advantage of the hesitancy.
"Certainly not!" Her tone was the epitome of wounded pride and resentment. "I am not in the habit of forming promiscuous acquaintances. If I have given you such an impression, Mrs. Atterbury, I am very sorry—"
"My dear, you must not be offended." A smile curved the set lips and her employer laid a conciliatory hand upon her arm. "I spoke only for your well being; I feel responsible for you, you know, and a young girl cannot be too careful, especially in a huge city like this. Come, we will say no more about it, child, but do not talk to strangers upon any pretext whatever, and let me know instantly if anyone tries to converse with you or engage your attention."
For the rest of the day Betty maintained an attitude of reproachful dignity, however, which enabled her to keep to herself and gave her ample time to formulate her immediate plans. Events were rapidly approaching a crisis, and she realized that not an hour could be lost.
At midnight she stole forth, the half-consumed candle from her dressing-table serving in lieu of her electric torch, and was descending the stairs, when a dim flickering glow from the music room made her pause in affright. She had assured herself that the household had long since retired to slumber; who, then, was this nocturnal intruder? Could it be Wolvert, lying in wait for her?
Hastily blowing out her candle flame, she crept down the stairs and peered cautiously in at the door of the music room. A huge portrait of Beethoven covered a central space in the left wall and before it, silent and motionless, stood a tall figure in a straight, white gown.