Selwyn smiled grudgingly. Bettina's fat and short little body made
effort to stretch to protective requirements, and her keen eyes
raised to his held them for a moment. Then she turned to me.

"Maybe he'd like to go to some of the homes we go to and see--"

"No. He doesn't want to see." I caught her hand and slipped it
through my arm. "It's much more comfortable not to see. One can
sleep so much better. Are you going our way?" I turned to Selwyn.
"If you are, we'd better start."

For a full block we said nothing. Selwyn, biting the ends of his
close-cut mustache, walked beside me, hands in his pockets and eyes
straight ahead, and not until Bettina had twice asked him if he knew
where Rowland Street was did he answer her.

"Rowland Street?" He turned abruptly, as if brought back to
something far removed in thought. "What on earth do you know of
Rowland Street?"

"Nothing--I never knew there was a street by that name until last
week when I heard a girl talking to grannie, who said she lived on
it. She did her hands, when she talked, just like the girl with you
did." Bettina twisted hers in imitative movements. "She didn't keep
her hands still a minute."

"Few girls do when they talk. They apparently prefer to use their
hands to their brains." Selwyn's shoulders shrugged impatiently,
then his teeth came together on his lip. Again he stared ahead and,
save for Bettina's chatter, we walked in silence to Scarborough