“Just that. You know Madeleine was a big, grand, splendid type,—majestic and haughty; and she thought Schuyler loved better some little, timid girl, who would sort of look up to him, and need his protection.”
Fessenden looked steadily at Miss French. “Are you imagining all this,” he said, “or is it true?”
“Both,” responded Kitty, with a charming little smile. “Maddy just hinted it to me, and I guessed the rest. You know, I have detective instinct too, as well as you.”
“You have, indeed;” and Rob gave an admiring glance to the pouting red lips, and roguish eyes. “But tell me more about it.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” said Kitty, looking thoughtful, “but there’s a lot to deduce.”
“Well, tell me what there is to tell, and then we’ll both deduce.”
It pleased Kitty greatly to imagine she was really helping Fessenden, and she went glibly on:
“Why, you see, Maddy was unhappy,—we all know that,—and it was for some reason connected with Schuyler. Yet they were to be married, all the same. But sometimes Maddy has asked me, with such a wistful look, if I didn’t think men preferred little, kittenish girls to big, proud ones like herself.”
“And you, being a little, kittenish girl, said yes?”
“Don’t be rude,” said Kitty, flashing a smile at him. “I am kittenish in name only. And I am not little!”