“Do you know?”
“I should think you would ask him.”
Mrs. Boatwright considered this. The girl was selfconscious, a little. And quietly—very quietly—hostile. Or perhaps merely on the defensive.
“Then you do know?”
“No,” replied Betty, with that same very quiet gravity, “I can't say that I do. He is studying China, of course. He came from America to do that, I understand.”
“Did you know he was coming out here?”
Betty slowly shook her head.
“Have you been corresponding with him?”
Another silence. Then this from Betty, without heat:
“I don't understand why you are asking these questions.”