"I won't say so."
"Well, then--that day, you know, after I saw you at the Bête--Madame Gautier didn't come to fetch me, and I waited, and waited, and at last I went to her flat, and she was dead,--and I ought to have telegraphed to my step-father to fetch me, but I thought I would like to have one night in Paris first--you know I hadn't seen Paris at all, really."
"Yes," he said, trying not to let any anxiety into his voice. "Yes--go on."
"And I went to the Café d'Harcourt--What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"I thought it was where the art students went. And I met a girl there, and she was kind to me."
"What sort of a girl? Not an art student?"
"No," said Betty hardly, "she wasn't an art student. She told me what she was."
"Yes?"
"And I--I don't think I should have done it just for me alone, but--I did want to stay in Paris and work--and I wanted to help her to be good--she is good really, in spite of everything. Oh, I know you're horribly shocked, but I can't help it! And now she's gone,--and I can't find her."
"I'm not shocked," he said deliberately, "but I'm extremely stupid. How gone?"