Betty's face clouded for a moment at the mention of Farwell's name. She hated him with the ferocity of the weak; he had ruined her friend. But it was good to have her back. The cab drove down Chancery Lane at a spanking rate, then across the Strand and through a lane. The unaccustomed pleasure and the rush of air brought all her face into pink unison with her cheeks.
The two women sat side by side for a moment. This was the second time they had met since Victoria had entered her new life. There had been a few letters, the last to thank Victoria for her Christmas present, but Betty did not say much in them. Her tradition of virtue had erected a barrier between them.
'Well, Betty,' said Victoria suddenly, 'do you still think me very bad?'
'Oh, Vic, how can you? I never, never said that.'
'No, you thought it,' answered Victoria a little cruelly. 'But never mind, perhaps you're right.'
'I never said so, never thought so,' persisted Betty. 'You can't go wrong, Vic, you're . . . you're different.'
'Perhaps I am,' said Victoria. 'Perhaps there are different laws for different people. At any rate I've made my choice and must abide by it.'
'And are you happy, Vic?' Anxiety was in the girl's face.
'Happy? Oh, happy enough. He's a good sort.'
'I'm so glad. And . . . Vic . . . do you think he'll marry you?'