"I believe your Master is mad," she remarked. "Indeed," she added after a pause, "I believe everyone is mad. I'm mad. You're mad."
"Oh, I am not," I cried warmly.
"You must be to set up a human god and worship him as you do your Master. You are the maddest of all of us, Mr. Asticot."
A touch of light scorn in her tone nettled me. Even Joanna should not speak of him irreverently.
"If he had bought you from your mother for half-a-crown," said I, "and made you into a student at Janot's, you would worship him too, Madame."
"I have been wondering whether you kept your promise to me," she said—I wish women were not so disconcertingly irrelevant—"but now I am quite sure."
"Of course I didn't tell my master," I declared stoutly.
"Good. And this little drive must be a secret too."
"If you wish," I said. "But I don't like to have secrets from him."
"Give me his address," she said after a pause, and I noticed she spoke with some effort. "Does he still go by that absurd name? What was it?"