directly the party goes into double figures. We had to put off dinner a quarter of an hour, because of Kitty Bristol, who missed her train at St. Pancras, and only arrived half an hour ago. By the way, I suppose you have already seen her—at that woman's?"
"I met her last Tuesday at Madame d'Estrées'," said Ashe, apparently preoccupied with something wrong in the set of his white waistcoat.
"What do you think of her?"
"A charming young lady," said Ashe, smiling. " What else should I think?"
"A lamb thrown to the wolves," said Lady Grosville, grimly. "How that woman could do such a thing!"
"I saw nothing lamblike about Lady Kitty," said Ashe. "And do you include me among the wolves?"
Lady Grosville hesitated a moment, then stuck to her colors.
"You shouldn't go to such a house," she said, boldly. "I suppose I may say that without offence, William, as I've known you from a boy."
"Say anything you like, my dear Lady Grosville! So you—believe evil things—of Madame d'Estrées?"
His tone was light, but his eyes sought the distant door, as though invoking some fellow guest to appear and protect him.
Lady Grosville did not answer. Ashe's look returned to her, and he was startled by the expression of her face. He had always known and unwillingly admired her for a fine Old Testament Christian,—one from whom the language of the imprecatory psalms with regard to her enemies, personal and political, might have flowed more naturally than from any other person he knew, of the same class and breeding. But this loathing, this passion of contempt, this heat of memory!—these were new indeed, and the fire of them transfigured the old gray face.
"I have known a fair number of bad people," said Lady Grosville in a low voice, "and a good many wicked women. But for meanness and vileness combined, the things I know of the woman who was Blackwater's wife have no equal in my experience!"
There was a moment's pause. Then Ashe said, in a voice as serious as her own:
"I am sorry to hear you say that,—partly because I like Madame d'Estrées, and partly—because—I was particularly attracted by Lady Kitty."
Lady Grosville looked up sharply. "Don't marry her, William!—don't marry her! She comes of a bad stock."
Ashe recovered his gayety.
"She is your own niece. Mightn't a man dare?—on that guarantee?"
"Not at all," said Lady Grosville, unappeased. "I was a hop out of kin. Besides—a Methodist governess saved me; she converted me, at eighteen, and I owe her everything. But my brothers!—and all the rest of us!" She threw up her eyes and hands. "What's the good of being mealy-mouthed about it? All the world knows it. A good many of us were mad,—and I sometimes think I see more than eccentricity in Kitty."
"Who was Madame d'Estrées?" said Ashe. Why should he wince so at the girl's name?—in that hard mouth!
Lady Grosville smiled.
"Well, I can tell you a good deal about that," she said. " Ah!—another time!"
For the door opened, and in came a group of guests, with a gush of talk and a rustling of silks and satins.
Everybody was gathered; dinner had been announced; and the white-haired and gouty Lord Grosville was in a state of seething impatience that not even the mild-voiced Dean of the neighboring cathedral, engaged in complimenting him on his speech at the Diocesan Conference, could restrain.
"Adelina, need we wait any longer?" said the master of the house, turning an angry eye upon his wife.
"Certainly not; she has had ample time," said Lady Grosville, and rang the bell beside her.
Suddenly there was a whirlwind of noise in the hall—the angry barking of a small dog, the sound of a girl's voice laughing and scolding, the swish of silk skirts. A scandalized butler, obeying Lady Grosville's summons, threw the door open; and in burst Lady Kitty.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" said the newcomer in a tone of despair. "But I couldn't leave him up-stairs, Aunt Lina! He'd eaten one of my shoes, and begun upon the other. And Julie's afraid of
