Penfield laid down the papers in his hand. "Was your aunt in her normal health on Sunday?" he asked. "Apparently so; I never observed any change in her." "Had she complained of illness recently?" "No. On the contrary, she seemed brighter and more cheerful during the past ten days," Kitty answered. "Was she ever despondent?" "No," promptly. "She always looked on the bright side of things. I--" with a fleeting smile--"I was the pessimist of the family." "I see." Coroner Penfield regarded her thoughtfully. She looked barely out of her 'teens,' and hers was certainly not the face of a pessimist--youth, good health, and good looks did not conspire to a gloomy outlook on life. "Who were your aunt's intimate friends?" "Do you mean women of her own age?" "Yes; of her age, and also of yours." Kitty debated the question thoughtfully before answering it. "Not many of Aunt Susan's old friends are alive," she said. "Aunty had just passed her seventieth birthday. She liked all my friends." "_All?_" "Yes." Kitty regarded him steadfastly. She had noted the emphasis on the word "all." A moment passed before the coroner addressed her again. "Miss Baird, have you unlimited telephone service?" "Why, yes." Kitty's tone expressed surprise. "We have always had unlimited service." Penfield paused and wrote a few lines on his memorandum pad. When he spoke, his voice had gained an added seriousness. "Were you and your aunt always on the best of terms?" he asked. Kitty sat erect and her hands dropped on the arms of her chair. "Your question is impertinent," she said cuttingly, and, in spite of himself, Penfield flushed. "I insist upon an answer," he retorted. "A truthful answer." "Dr. Penfield!" Kitty rose. "Be seated, Madam. A witness cannot leave until dismissed by the coroner." Penfield spoke with unwonted severity. "I will change my question. What did you and Miss Baird quarrel about on Sunday?" "Quarrel?" "Yes, Madam, quarrel. Your servant, Oscar, overheard you." Kitty's bright color had flown. With eyes expressing her scorn, she threw back her head defiantly. "Ask Oscar," she suggested. "Servants' gossip may prove diverting--whether truthful or not." Penfield watched her for an intolerable moment. Kitty's breath was coming unevenly when he finally spoke. "You are excused, Miss Baird," he stated briefly, and turned to the Morgue Master. "Summon Mrs. Benjamin Potter, Hume," he directed. Kitty's sudden dismissal by the coroner was a shock to the reporters as well as to the spectators, and they watched her leave the room with undisguised curiosity and disappointment. Were they to be cheated out of a sensational scene? Why had not Coroner Penfield pressed home his question?