all these things had Madame d'Estrées. It was only the envious or the prosaic who remembered that she had possessed them, in the full view of society—of a certain section of society, at any rate,—for more than twenty years.
"Well, this is all very surprising," said Ashe, "considering that four months ago I did not matter an old shoe to anybody."
"That was your own fault. You took no trouble. And besides—there was your poor brother in the way."
Ashe's brow contracted.
"No, that he never was," he said, with energy. "Freddy was never in anybody's way—least of all in mine."
"You know what I mean," she said, hastily. "And you know what friends he and I were,—poor Freddy! But, after all, the world's the world."
"Yes—we all grow on somebody's grave," said Ashe. Then, just as she became conscious that she had jarred upon him, and must find a new opening, he himself found it. "Tell me!" he said, bending forward with a sudden alertness, "who is that lady?"
He pointed out a little figure in white, sitting in the opening of the second drawing-room—a very young girl apparently, surrounded by a group of men.
"Ah!" said Madame d'Estrées, "I was coming to that—that's my girl Kitty—"
"Lady Kitty!" said Ashe, in amazement. "She's left school? I thought she was quite a little thing."
"She's not quite eighteen. Isn't she a darling? Don't you think her very pretty?"
Ashe looked a moment.
"Extraordinarily bewitching!—unlike other people?" he said, turning to the mother.
Madame d'Estrées raised her eyebrows a little, in apparent amusement.
"I'm not going to describe Kitty. She's indescribable. Besides—you must find her out. Do go and talk to her. She's to be half with me, half with her aunt—Lady Grosville."
Ashe made some polite comment.
"Oh! don't let's be conventional!" said Madame d'Estrées, flirting her fan with a little air of weariness. "It's an odious arrangement. Lady Grosville and I, as you probably know, are not on terms. She says atrocious things of me,—and I—" the fair head fell back a little, and the white shoulders rose, with the slightest air of languid disdain. "Well, bear me witness that I don't retaliate! It's not worth while. But I know that Grosville House can help Kitty. So!—" Her gesture, half ironical, half resigned, completed the sentence.
"Does Lady Kitty like society?"
"Kitty likes anything that flatters or excites her."
"Then of course she likes society. Anybody as pretty as that—"
"Ah! how sweet of you," said Madame d'Estrées, softly,—"how sweet of you! I like you to think her pretty. I like you to say so."
Ashe felt and looked a trifle disconcerted, but his companion bent forward and added: "I don't know whether I want you to flirt with her! You must take care. Kitty's the most fantastic creature. Oh! my life now 'll be very different. I find she takes all my thoughts and most of my time!"
There was something extravagant in the sweetness of the smile which emphasized the speech, and altogether Madame d'Estrées, in this new maternal aspect, was not as agreeable as usual. Part of her charm perhaps had always lain in the fact that she had no domestic topics of her own, and so was endlessly ready for those of other people. Those, indeed, who came often to her house were accustomed to speak warmly of her "unselfishness"—by which they meant the easy patience with which she could listen, smile, and flatter.
Perhaps Ashe made this tacit demand upon her, no less than other people. At any rate, as she talked cooingly on about her daughter, he would have found her tiresome for once, but for some arresting quality in that small, distant figure. As it was, he followed what she said with attention, and as soon as she had been recaptured by the impatient Italian Ambassador, he moved off, intending slowly to make his way to Lady Kitty. But he was caught in many congratulations by the road, and presently he saw that his friend Darrell was being introduced to her by the old habitué of the house, Colonel Warington, who generally divided with the hostess the "lead" of these social evenings.
