from the Austrian embassy, two members of Parliament, and a well-known journalist,—Ashe said to himself, flippantly, that so far the trumps were not many. But he was always reasonably glad to see Mary, and he went up to her, cared for her bag, and made her put on her cloak, with cousinly civility. In the omnibus on the way to the house, he and Mary gossiped in a corner, while the cabinet minister and the editor went to sleep, and the two members of Parliament practised some courageous French on the Austrian attaché.
"Is it to be a large party?" he asked of his companion.
"Oh! they always fill the house. A good many came down yesterday."
"Well, I'm not curious," said Ashe, "except as to one person."
"Who?"
"Lady Kitty Bristol."
Mary Lyster smiled.
"Yes, poor child, I heard from the Grosville girls that she was to be here."
"Why 'poor child'?"
"I don't know. Quite the wrong expression, I admit. It should be 'poor hostess.'"
"Oh!—the Grosvilles complain?"
"No. They're only on tenter-hooks. They never know what she will do next."
"How good for the Grosvilles!"
"You think society is the better for shocks?"
"Lady Grosville can do with them, anyway. What a masterful woman! But I'll back Lady Kitty."
"I haven't seen her yet," said Mary. "I hear she is a very odd-looking little thing."
"Extremely pretty," said Ashe.
"Really?" Mary lifted incredulous eyebrows. "Well, now I shall know what you admire."
"Oh, my tastes are horribly catholic,—I admire so many people," said Ashe, with a glance at the well-dressed elegance beside him. Mary colored a little, unseen; and the rattle of the carriage as it entered the covered porch of Grosville Park cut short their conversation.
"Well, I'm glad you got in," said Lady Grosville, in her full, loud voice, "because we are connections. But of course I regard the loss of a seat to our side just now as a great disaster."
"Very grasping, on your part!" said Ashe. "You've had it all your own way lately. Think of Portsmouth!"
Lady Grosville, however, as she met his bantering look, did not find herself at all inclined to think of Portsmouth. She was much more inclined to think of William Ashe. What a good-looking fellow he had grown! She heaved an inward sigh, of mingled envy and appreciation,—directed towards Lady Tranmore.
Poor Susan, indeed, had suffered terribly in the death of her eldest son. But the handsomer and abler of the two brothers still remained to her, and the estate was safe. Lady Grosville thought of her own three daughters, plain and almost dowerless; and of that conceited young man, the heir, whom she could hardly persuade her husband to invite, once a year, for appearance's sake.
"Why are we so early?" said Ashe, looking at his watch. "I thought I should be disgracefully late."
For he and Lady Grosville had the library to themselves. It was a fine book-walled room, with giallo antico columns and Adam decoration; and in its richly colored lamp-lit space the seated figure, stiffly erect, of Lady Grosville,—her profile said by some to be like a horse and by others to resemble Savonarola,—the cap of old Venice point that crowned her grizzled hair, her black velvet dress, and the long-fingered, ugly, yet distinguished hands which lay upon her lap, told significantly: especially when contrasted with the negligent ease and fresh-colored youth of her companion.
Grosville Park was rich in second-rate antiques; and there was a Greco-Roman head above the bookcase with which Ashe had been often compared. As he stood now leaning against the fireplace, the close-piled curls and the eyes—somewhat "à fleur de tête"—of the bust were undoubtedly repeated with some closeness in the living man. Those whom he had offended by some social carelessness or other said of him, when they wished to run him down, that he was "floridly" handsome; and there was some truth in it.
"Didn't you get the message about dinner?" said Lady Grosville. Then, as he shook his head: "Very remiss of Parkin. I always tell him he loses his head
