that there is anything odd about that—Italian?”

“Odd?” repeated Bell.

“I can’t make him out,” said Kitty, uneasily. “It must be fancy, of course, but still I don’t really think he is quite what he seems.”

“In what way?”

“You’ll laugh, Bell, but—do you think he looks like a common man? He doesn’t talk like one, at any rate. I think it is just as well he is not coming again. I—”

“Well,” interrupted her friend, “what do you say to his hands?”

“Then, that struck you too?” exclaimed Kitty eagerly. “Why what is it?”

For Bell had flung herself into a chair in a sudden paroxysm of laughter, so long and so unchecked that for a time she could not speak.

“So you suspect at last?” she cried. “Oh, Kitty, Kitty!”

“What do you mean?” cried the girl. “Bell, I shall shake you if you are so dreadfully silly. What do you mean? What do you know? Oh, Bell, don’t be provoking!”

“But I want you to guess. I shan’t tell you until you have had at least six guesses. Who do you suppose—only you never will suppose, that’s the worst of it!—still, who, of all unlikely persons, has been your model?”

Kitty drew herself up.

“I don’t know; and if you knew and did not tell me, I am not sure that I shall ever forgive you.”

This terrible threat appeared in no way to disconcert her friend.

“Guess.”

Kitty shook her head, and walked to the window.

“Come back, or I won’t tell you.”

Kitty hesitated; then marched back.

“Tell me directly.”

“It was Mr Everitt himself.”

 Prev. P 23/61 next