were possessed by Kitty only,—Kitty in her two aspects, of the morning and the afternoon. He dressed in a reverie, and went down-stairs, still dreaming.
At dinner he found himself responsible for Mary Lyster. Kitty was on the other side of the table, widely separated both from himself and Cliffe. She was in a little Empire dress of blue and silver, as extravagantly simple as her gown of the afternoon had been extravagantly elaborate.
Ashe observed the furtive study that the Grosville girls could not help bestowing upon her,—upon her shoulder-straps and long bare arms, upon her high waist, and the blue and silver bands in her hair. Kitty herself sat in a pensive or proud silence. The Dean was beside her, but she scarcely spoke to him, and as to the young man from the neighborhood who had taken her in, he was to her as though he were not.
"Has there been a row?" Ashe inquired, in a low voice, of his companion. Mary looked at him quietly.
"Lord Grosville asked them not to play—because of the servants."
"Good!" said Ashe. "The servants were, of course, playing cards in the housekeeper's room."
"Not at all. They were singing hymns with Lady Grosville."
Ashe looked incredulous.
"Only the slaveys and scullery-maids that couldn't help themselves. Never mind. Was Lady Kitty amenable?"
"She seems to have made Lord Grosville very angry. Lady Grosville and I smoothed him down."
"Did you?" said Ashe. "That was nice of you."
Mary colored a little, and did not reply. Presently Ashe resumed:
"Aren't you as sorry for her as I am?"
"For Lady Kitty? I should think she managed to amuse herself pretty well."
"She seems to me the most deplorable, tragic little person," said Ashe, slowly.
Miss Lyster laughed.
"I really don't see it," she said.
"Oh yes, you do," he persisted—"if you think a moment. Be kind to her!—won't you?"
She drew herself up, with a soft, cold dignity. "I confess that she has never attracted me in the least."
Ashe returned to his dinner, dimly conscious that he had spoken like a fool.
When the ladies had withdrawn, the conversation fell on some important news from the Far East contained in the Sunday papers that Geoffrey Cliffe had brought down, and presumed to form part of the despatches which the two ministers staying in the house had received that afternoon by Foreign Office messenger. The government of Teheran was in one of its periodical fits of ill temper with England; had been meddling with Afghanistan, flirting badly with Russia, and bringing ridiculous charges against the British minister. An expedition to Bushire was talked of, and the Radical press was on the war-path. The cabinet minister said little. A Lord Privy Seal reverentially credited with advising royalty in its private affairs need have no views on the Persian Gulf. But Ashe was appealed to and talked well. The minister at Teheran was an old friend of his, and he described the personal attacks made on him for political reasons by the Shah and his ministers with a humor which kept the table entertained.
Suddenly Cliffe interposed. He had been listening with restlessness, though Ashe, with pointed courtesy, had once or twice included him in the conversation. And presently, at a somewhat dramatic moment, he met a statement of Ashe's with a direct and violent contradiction. Ashe flushed, and a duel began between the two men, of which the company were soon silent spectators. Ashe had the resources of official knowledge; Cliffe had been recently on the spot, and pushed home the advantage of the eye-witness with a covert insolence, which Ashe bore with surprising carelessness and good temper. In the end Cliffe said some outrageous things, at which Ashe laughed; and Lord Grosville abruptly dissolved the party.
Ashe went smiling out of the dining-room, caressing a fine white spaniel, as though nothing had happened. In crossing the hall Harman found himself alone with the Dean, who looked serious and preoccupied.
"That was a curious spectacle," said Harman. "Ashe's equanimity was amazing."
