"Oh, that was it, was it?" I said. "Well, that may account for his depression. But look you here, Kitty; was he not rather nervous about his examination?"
"A little," she answered with reluctance.
"And, nonetheless, did he not come out pretty high?"
"Seventeenth. Thirteen thousand four hundred and twenty-six marks," Kitty replied glibly.
"Just so! And if he had failed he would have suffered in your eyes?"
"Not a scrap. And, besides, he did not fail," she retorted.
"But he may have thought he would suffer," I answered, "if he failed. That would be a sharp temptation, Kitty."
She did not reply at once. She was busy rolling up a ribbon of her frock into the smallest possible compass, and unrolling it again. At last--it was clear I had made her think--
"I know he did not do it," she said, "but that is all I do know. I cannot prove to you that white is not black; but it is not, and I know it is not."
"Well, my dear, I hope you are right," I answered. And it cheered me to find that she held him worthy of confidence.