“I don’t care! Maddy never killed herself. She wouldn’t do it, I know her too well. Oh, dear! now there won’t be any wedding at all! Isn’t it dreadful to think of that decorated room, and the bower we planned for the bride!”
At these thoughts Kitty’s tears began to flow afresh, and Molly, who was already limp from weeping, joined her.
“There, there,” said Mrs. Markham, gently patting Molly’s shoulder. “Don’t cry so, dearie. It can’t do any good, and you’ll just make yourself ill.”
“But I don’t understand,” said Molly, as she mopped her eyes with her wet ball of a handkerchief; “why did she kill herself?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Markham, but her expression seemed to betoken a sad suspicion.
“She didn’t kill herself,” reiterated Kitty. “I stick to that, but if she did, I know why.”
This feminine absence of logic was unremarked by her hearers, who both said, “Why?”
“Because Schuyler didn’t love her enough,” said Kitty earnestly. “She just worshipped him, and he used to care more for her, but lately he hasn’t.”
“How do you know?” asked Molly.
“Oh, Madeleine didn’t tell me,” returned Kitty. “I just gathered it. I’ve been here ’most a week—you know I came several days before you did, Molly—and I’ve noticed her a lot. Oh, I don’t mean I spied on her, or anything horrid. Only, I couldn’t help seeing that she wished Mr. Carleton would be more attentive.”