Part 19 (1/2)
”I want to talk to you,” he exclaimed abruptly.
”I am writing letters.”
”Do give me a few minutes.”
”Very well,” she said, pus.h.i.+ng her paper away and laying down her pen.
”What is it?”
”That's what I want to ask you. What has come over Betty? Is she ill?”
”Betty! Has anything come over her?”
Bellairs tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.
”Don't tell me you haven't noticed the change,” he said. ”Forgive me for saying that I couldn't believe it if you did.”
”In that case I won't trouble myself to say it.”
”Ah--you have! Then what's the matter? Tell me.”
”Hush, don't speak so loud or the sailors will hear you, and Abdul understands English. I did not say I knew the reason of this change.”
”You must. You are Betty's other self, or rather she is--was--yours.”
”Was! Do you mean that she is not now?”
”Remember, she loves me.”
”Oh, and that makes a difference?”
”Surely!”
”You have observed it?”
Bellairs hesitated. He scarcely knew whether to reply in the affirmative or the negative. He resolved upon a compromise.
”There has hardly been time yet,” he said; ”naturally, I expect that Betty will place me before every one else.”
Mdlle. Leroux's eyes flashed under the hanging lamp.
”What we expect is not always what we get,” she said significantly.
Bellairs flushed. He understood that she was alluding to his treatment of her, but he preferred to ignore it, and went on:--
”Is Betty ill to-night?”
”Not at all.”
”Then what on earth is the matter? I ask you for a plain answer. I think I deserve so much.”