“I’ve heard nothing. What is it?”
Poor Miss Dupuy had bravely taken up the burden of telling the sad story to callers who did not know of it, and this was not the first time that morning she had enlightened inquiring friends.
In a few words she told Mr. Fessenden of the events of the night before. He was shocked and sincerely grieved. Although his acquaintance with Miss Van Norman was slight, he was Schuyler Carleton’s oldest and best friend, and so he had come from New York the day before in order to take his part at the wedding.
While they were talking Kitty French came in. As Mr. Fessenden began to converse with her Cicely excused herself and left the room.
“Isn’t it awful?” began Kitty, and her tear-filled eyes supplemented the trite sentence.
“It is indeed,” said Rob Fessenden, taking her hand in spontaneous sympathy. “Why should she do it?”
“She didn’t do it,” declared Kitty earnestly. “Mr. Fessenden, they all say she killed herself, but I know she didn’t. Won’t you help me to prove that, and to find out who did kill her?”
“What do you mean, Miss French? Miss Dupuy just told me it was a suicide.”
“They all say so, but I know better. Oh, I wish somebody would help me! Molly doesn’t think as I do, and I can’t do anything all alone.”
Miss French’s face was small and flower-like, and when she clasped her little hands and bewailed her inability to prove her belief, young Fessenden thought he had never seen such a perfect picture of beautiful helplessness. Without reserve he instantly resolved to aid and advise her to the best of his own ability.