“Have you lived here long?” she said.
“All my life,” he answered. Pretty and well-dressed as she was, he had no dread of her. He regarded girls as spiteful creatures who scratched one another like cats when angry and shrieked hysterically when they played.
“That’s not very long,” she cried.
“No; but it’s longer than you’ve lived anywhere else.”
“Me! I have lived everywhere—in London, Berlin, Paris, Nice, Montreux—O, je ne sais—I beg your pardon. Perhaps you don’t speak French?”
“No.”
“Would you like to learn?”
“Yes, very much.”
“I’ll teach you. It will be such fun. I know all sorts of naughty words. I learnt them in Monte Carlo, where I could hear the servants chattering when I was put to bed. Watch me wake up nurse. Françoise, mon chou! Cré nom d’un pipe, mais que vous êtes triste aujourd’hui!”
The bonne started. She shook the child angrily.