"Oh!" He wondered uneasily what "something important" might be.
"You remember meeting us—my brother and me—in the town yesterday morning?"
"Yes," assented Tim. "So you did see me. I was positive of it at the time, though you kept your head turned aside."
"That was because I was eating sweets, and there was a big caramel in my mouth," she said hastily, looking somewhat abashed. "Not that I should have spoken to you, anyway," she went on truthfully. "You couldn't have expected either of us to do that after—but never mind that now! What I want to know is, where did you go afterwards?"
"Where did I go afterwards? I—I—why do you ask? What does it matter to you?"
What a rude boy he was, Kitty thought. She flushed with annoyance; but she was so anxious to ascertain if he could throw any light on the matter which weighed upon her mind that she answered pacifically:
"It doesn't matter to me, except that I thought, if you came straight home, you might have noticed if there was any one prowling about our garden. The fact is," speaking in a confidential tone, "I had a dear little rabbit in a big box against the wall, and some one upset the box and killed the rabbit. Perhaps you know that?"
"I—I—yes," Tim admitted; "I saw you all in the garden when—when you found it dead, and—and—I was sorry—"
He paused in confusion, whilst Kitty regarded him more favourably, for he really did look sorry, quite distressed, in fact.
"It was a sweet little creature," she said with a sigh, "and it was so sad to find it killed. I daresay you thought me silly and babyish to cry, but really I couldn't help it. I had only bought it the night before; I gave a shilling for it. That wasn't what made me cry, though; it was because it was such a dear, so soft and as white as snow." She paused and blinked away a tear, then proceeded more briskly: "Well, what I want to know is, did you see any one interfering with the rabbit hutch?"