She lifted a small hand, begging him to spare her further
questions. It was apparent that she must explain each aspect of
their present difficulty, with as much patience as though Jimmy
were in reality only a child. She sank into her chair and then
proceeded, with a martyred air.

"You see it was like this," she said. "Alfred came into the
restaurant just after we had gone out and Henri, the waiter who
has taken care of him for years, told him that I had just been in
to luncheon with a gentleman."

Jimmy shifted about on the edge of his chair, ill at ease.

"Now if Alfred had only told me that in the first place," she
continued, "I'd have known what to say, but he didn't. Oh no, he
was as sweet as could be all through breakfast and last night
too, and then just as he was leaving this morning, I said
something about luncheon and he said, quite casually, 'Where did
you have luncheon YESTERDAY, my dear?' So I answered quite
carelessly, 'I had none, my love.' Well, I wish you could have
seen him. He called me dreadful things. He says I'm the one
thing he can't endure."

"What's that?" questioned Jimmy, wondering how Alfred could
confine himself to any "ONE thing."

"He says I'm a liar!" shrieked Zoie tearfully.

"Well, aren't you?" asked Jimmy.