“You see,” the child gravely continued, “you are a clever man; and you have come here to help mamma.  I have got that much out of grandmamma, if I have got nothing else.  Don’t look at me; look at your float.  My papa has gone away and Syd has left me without even saying good-by, and we have given up our nice old house in Scotland and come to live here.  I tell you I don’t understand it.  If you see your float begin to tremble, and then give a little dip down as if it was going to sink, pull your line out of the water; you will most likely find a fish at the end of it.  When I ask mamma what all this means, she says there is a reason, and I am not old enough to understand it, and she looks unhappy, and she gives me a kiss, and it ends in that way.  You’ve got a bite; no you haven’t; it’s only a nibble; fish are so sly.  And grandmamma is worse still.  Sometimes she tells me I’m a spoiled child; and sometimes she says well-behaved little girls don’t ask questions.  That’s nonsense—­and I think it’s hard on me.  You look uncomfortable.  Is it my fault?  I don’t want to bother you; I only want to know why Syd has gone away.  When I was younger I might have thought the fairies had taken her.  Oh, no! that won’t do any longer; I’m too old.  Now tell me.”

Mr. Sarrazin weakly attempted to gain time:  he looked at his watch.  Kitty looked over his shoulder:  “Oh, we needn’t be in a hurry; breakfast won’t be ready for half an hour yet.  Plenty of time to talk of Syd; go on.”

Most unwisely (seeing that he had to deal with a clever child, and that child a girl), Mr. Sarrazin tried flat denial as a way out of the difficulty.  He said:  “I don’t know why she has gone away.”  The next question followed instantly:  “Well, then, what do you think about it?” In sheer despair, the persecuted friend said the first thing that came into his head.

“I think she has gone to be married.”

Kitty was indignant.

“Gone to be married, and not tell me!” she exclaimed.  “What do you mean by that?”

Mr. Sarrazin’s professional experience of women and marriages failed to supply him with an answer.  In this difficulty he exerted his imagination, and invented something that no woman ever did yet.  “She’s waiting,” he said, “to see how her marriage succeeds, before she tells anybody about it.”

This sounded probable to the mind of a child.

“I hope she hasn’t married a beast,” Kitty said, with a serious face and an ominous shake of the head.  “When shall I hear from Syd?”

Mr. Sarrazin tried another prevarication—­with better results this time.  “You will be the first person she writes to, of course.”  As that excusable lie passed his lips, his float began to tremble.  Here was a chance of changing the subject—­“I’ve got a fish!” he cried.