“How do you mean?”
“Have you ever loved—before—a girl, here in Paris—like me?”
“There are none—like you.”
“Answer me, Rex.”
“No, I never have,” he said, truthfully. Presently he added, “And you, Yvonne?”
She put her warm little hand across his mouth.
“Don’t ask,” she murmured.
“But I do!” he cried, struggling to see her eyes, “won’t you tell me?”
She hid her face tight against his breast.
“You know I have; that is why I am alone here, in Paris.”