“Then why do you take employment as a chauffeur?”
“I don’t. That car belongs to me.”
“And your being a waiter? I don’t suppose the Taverne Splendide belongs to you?”
“An impromptu bit of acting,” confessed the abashed Julien.
“And this attic? Was that hired for the same comedy?”
“No. This is mine, really.”
“I don’t understand. Why have you done it all?”
“If you want to know the truth,” he said defiantly, “so that I could keep on seeing you.”
“That’s a very poor excuse,” she retorted.
“The best in the world. As a successful commercial artist, what possible interest would you have taken in me? You took me for a struggling young painter—that was the Bonnie Lassie’s fault, for I never lied to you about it—and after we’d started on that track I didn’t—well, I didn’t have the courage to risk losing you by quitting the masquerade.”