Mrs. Ellison was silent for a moment before she said, “Well, then, I suppose we shall have to go back to the very beginning.”
“Yes,” assented Kitty, faintly.
“You did have a sort of fancy for him the first time you saw him, didn’t you?” asked Mrs. Ellison coaxingly, while forcing herself to be systematic and coherent, by a mental strain of which no idea can be given.
“Yes,” said Kitty, yet more faintly, adding, “but I can’t tell just what sort of a fancy it was. I suppose I admired him for being handsome and stylish, and for having such exquisite manners.”
“Go on,” said Mrs. Ellison; “and after you got acquainted with him?”
“Why, you know we’ve talked that over once already, Fanny.”
“Yes, but we oughtn’t to skip anything now,” replied Mrs. Ellison, in a tone of judicial accuracy, which made Kitty smile.
But she quickly became serious again, and said, “Afterwards I couldn’t tell whether to like him or not, or whether he wanted me to. I think he acted very strangely for a person in—love. I used to feel so troubled and oppressed when I was with him. He seemed always to be making himself agreeable under protest.”
“Perhaps that was just your imagination, Kitty.”
“Perhaps it was; but it troubled me just the same.”