And at this Miss Waitie, who was always a little hoarse and very playful, shook her head at Katinka.
“Now, new delivery wagon nothin’,” she said skeptically; “it’s that curly-headed delivery boy, I’ll be bound.”
So it was in my very first hour in Cousin Diantha’s house that I saw what those two good souls had never suspected. For at Miss Waitie’s words Andy, who worked for his board, suddenly flushed one agonizing red and spilled the preserves on the tablecloth. What more did any sane woman need on which to base the whole pleasant matter? Andy was in love with Katinka.
I sat up very straight and refused the fish balls in my preoccupation. My entire visit to Paddington quickly resolved itself into one momentous inquiry: Was Katinka in love with Andy?
“Is Katinka in love with Andy?” I put it to Pelleas excitedly, when at last we were upstairs.
“Katinka? Andy? Andy? Katinka?” responded Pelleas politely.
“Now, one would think you were never in love yourself,” I chided him, and fell planning what on earth they would live on. Why are so many little people with nothing at all to live on always in love—when every one knows spinster after spinster with an income apiece?
I was not long in doubt about Katinka. The very next morning I came upon her in the hall, her arms filled with kindling for the parlour fire. I followed her. Her dear, bright little face and yellow braids reminded me of the kind of doll that they never make any more.
“Katinka,” said I, lingering shamelessly, “do you put the sticks in across or up and down?”
For it may very well be upon this nice question as well as Angora cats that Pelleas and I will have our final disagreement, which let no one suppose that we will really ever have.