of him.”

“She didn’t kill herself,” stubbornly repeated Kitty, but Mrs. Markham said: “You don’t understand Maddy’s nature, Molly; she must have had some sudden and positive proof of Mr. Carleton’s lack of true affection for her to drive her to this step. But once convinced that he did not care for her, I know her absolute despair would impel her to the desperate deed.”

“Why didn’t he love her?” said Molly, who could see no reason why any man shouldn’t love the magnificent Madeleine.

“I think,” said Kitty slowly, “there was somebody else.”

“How did you know that?” exclaimed Mrs. Markham sharply, as if she had detected Kitty in some wrongdoing.

“I don’t know it, but I can’t help thinking so. Madeleine has sometimes asked me if I didn’t think most men preferred gentle, timid dispositions to a strong, capable nature like her own. Of course she didn’t express it just like that, but she hinted at it so wistfully, that I told her no, she was the splendidest, most adorable woman in the whole world. I meant it, too, but at the same time I do think men ’most always love the soft, tractable kind of girls, that are not so imperious and awe-inspiring as Maddy was.”

Surely Kitty ought to know, for she was the most delicious type of soft, tractable femininity. Her round, dimpled face was positively peachy, and her curling tendrils of goldy hair clustered round a low white brow, above appealing violet eyes. A man might admire the haughty Madeleine, but he would caressingly love bewitching little Kitty, and would involuntarily feel a sense of protection toward her, because of the shy trustfulness in her glance. This was not entirely ingenuous, for wise little Kitty quite understood her own charm, but it was natural, and in no way forced; and she was quite content that her lines had fallen in her own pleasant places, and she left the magnificent Madeleines of the world to pursue their own rôles. 

But she had admired and loved Maddy Van Norman, and just because of their differing natures, had understood why Schuyler Carleton’s affection was tempered with a certain sense of inferiority.

“You know,” she went on, as if thinking aloud, “everybody was a little afraid of magnificent Maddy. She was so superb, so regal. You couldn’t imagine yourself _cuddling_ her!”

“I should say not!” exclaimed Molly. “I could only imagine salaaming to her, or deferentially kissing her hand.”

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