"I see--And did Madame Lewandowska introduce you to him?"

"Oh, it was not there." The child's face cleared with swift thought. "I
didn't tell you--Madame was ill--"

The reclining figure straightened a little in its place, but the face
was still smiling. "So you and Miss Stone--"

"But Miss Stone is ill, mother-dear. Did you forget her toothache?" The
tone was politely reproachful.

The woman was very erect now--her small eyes, grown wide, gazing at the
child, devouring her. "Betty! Where have you been?" It was more a cry
than a question--a cry of dismay, running swiftly toward terror. It was
the haunting fear of her life that Betty would some day be kidnapped, as
the child next door had been.... The fingers resting on the arm of the
chair were held tense.

"I don't think I did wrong, mother." The child was looking at her very
straight, as if answering a challenge. "You see, I walked home--"

"Where was James?" The woman's tone was sharp, and her hand reached
toward the bell; but the child's hand moved softly toward it.

"I'd like to tell you about it myself, please, mother. James never waits
for the lessons. I don't think he was to blame."

The woman's eyes were veiled with sudden mist. She drew the child close.
"Tell mother about it."