And foolish little Kitty only smiled, and buried her face on Miss Morton’s shoulder instead of the young man’s!
And so, Miss Morton’s name was erased from Rob’s list of people to be inquired of, and, as he acknowledged to himself, he was quite ready now to turn over his share in the case to Fleming Stone.
And, too, since Miss Morton had given a gentle push to the rolling stone of his affair with Kitty, it rolled faster, and the two young people had their heart-to-heart talks with each other, instead of adding a third to the interview.
But there was just one more unfinished duty that Fessenden determined to attend to. Carleton had assured him that he was at liberty to talk to Dorothy Burt, if he chose, and Rob couldn’t help thinking that he ought to get all possible light on the case before Mr. Stone came; for he proposed to assist that gentleman greatly by his carefully tabulated statements, and his cross-referenced columns of evidence.
So, unaccompanied by Kitty, who was apt to prove a disturbing influence on his concentration of mind, he interviewed Miss Burt.
It was not difficult to get an opportunity, as she rarely left the house, and Mrs. Carleton was not exigent in her demands on her companion’s time.
So the two strolled in the rose-garden late one afternoon, and Rob asked Miss Burt to tell him why she hesitated so when on the witness stand, and why she looked at Carleton with such unmistakable glances of inquiry, which he as certainly answered.
Dorothy Burt replied to the questions as frankly as they were put.
“To explain it to you, Mr. Fessenden,” she said, “I must first tell you that I loved Mr. Carleton even while Miss Van Norman was his affianced bride. I tell you this simply, both because it is the simple truth and because Mr. Carleton advised me to tell you, if you should ask me. And, knowing this, you may be surprised to learn that when I heard of Miss Van Norman’s death, I——” she raised her wonderful eyes and looked straight at Rob—“I thought she died by Schuyler’s hand. Yes, you may well look at me in surprise,—I know it was dreadful of me to think he could have done it, but—I did think so. You see, I loved him,—and I knew he loved me. He had never told me so, had never breathed a word that was disloyal to Miss Van Norman,—and yet I knew. And that last evening in this very rose-garden, on the night before his wedding, we walked here together, and I knew from what he didn’t say, not from what he did say, that it was I whom he loved, and not she. He left me with a few cold, curt words that I knew only too well masked his real feelings, and I saw him no more that night. He had told me he was going over to Miss Van Norman’s, and so, when I heard of the—the tragedy—I couldn’t help thinking he had yielded to a sudden terrible impulse. Oh, I’m not defending myself for my wrong thought of him; I’m only confessing that I did think that.”
“And how did you learn that you were mistaken,” said Rob gently, “and that Schuyler didn’t do it?”