"Yes," said Betty, "it is nice," and she thought of Paula. "And do you live here all alone?" "Yes: I had a friend with me at first, but she's gone back to England." "Don't you find it very dull?" "Oh, no! I know lots of people now." "And they come to see you here?" Lady St. Craye had decided that it was not necessary to go delicately. The girl was evidently stupid, and one need not pick one's words. "Yes," said Betty. "Mr. Vernon's a great friend of yours, isn't he?" "Yes." "I suppose you see a great deal of him?" "Yes. Is there anything else you would like to know?" The scratch was so sudden, so fierce, so feline that for a moment Lady St. Craye could only look blankly at her hostess. Then she recovered herself enough to say: "Oh, I'm so sorry! Was I asking a lot of questions? It's a dreadful habit of mine, I'm afraid, when I'm interested in people." Betty scratched again quite calmly and quite mercilessly. "It's quite natural that Mr. Vernon should interest you. But I don't think I'm likely to be able to tell you anything about him that you don't know. May I get you some tea?" It was impossible for Lady St. Craye to reply: "I meant that I was interested in _you_--not in Mr. Vernon;" so she said: "Thank you--that will be delightful." Betty went along the little passage to her kitchen, and her visitor was left to revise her impressions. When Betty came back with the tea-tray, her hair was twisted up. The kettle could be heard hissing in the tiny kitchen. "Can't I help you?" Lady St. Craye asked, leaning back indolently in the most comfortable chair. "No, thank you: it's all done now." [Illustration: "'No, thank you it's all done now'"] Betty poured the tea for the other woman to drink. Her own remained untasted. She exerted herself to manufacture small-talk, was very amiable, very attentive. Lady St. Craye almost thought she must have dreamed those two sharp cat-scratches at the beginning of the interview. But presently Betty's polite remarks came less readily. There were longer intervals of silence. And Lady St. Craye for once was at a loss. Her nerve was gone. She dared not tempt the claws again. After the longest pause of all Betty said suddenly: "I think I know why you came to-day." "I came to see you, because you're a friend of Mr. Vernon's." "You came to see me because you wanted to find out exactly how much I'm a friend of Mr. Vernon's. Didn't you?" Candour is the most disconcerting of the virtues. "Not in the least," Lady St. Craye found herself saying. "I came to see you--because--as I said." "I don't think it is much use your coming to see me," Betty went on, "though, if you meant it kindly--But you didn't--you didn't! If you had it wouldn't have made any difference. We should never get on with each other, never." "Really, Miss Desmond"--Lady St. Craye clutched her card-case and half rose--"I begin to think we never should."