<i>tete-a-tete</i> with her husband's assailant in the press disagreeable and
unseemly; and as for Mrs. Alcot, he had disliked her particularly.

Kitty looked up unquelled.

"''Tis better to have fought and lost
Than never to have fought at all--'"

she quoted, with one of her most radiant and provoking smiles.

"Incorrigible!" cried the Dean, catching up his hat. "I see! Once an
Archangel--always an Archangel."

"Oh no!" said Kitty. "There may be 'war in heaven.'"

"Well, don't take Mrs. Alcot for a leader, that's all," said the Dean,
as he held out a hand of farewell.

"And now I understand!" cried Kitty, triumphantly. "You detest my best
friend."

The Dean laughed, protested, and went. Ashe, who had been writing
letters while Kitty and the Dean were talking, escorted the old man to
the door.

* * * * *

When he returned he found Kitty sitting with her hands in her lap, lost
apparently in thought.

"Darling," he said, looking at his watch, "I must be off directly, but I
should like to see the boy."

Kitty started. She rang, and the child was brought down. He sat on
Kitty's knee, and Ashe coming to the sofa, threw an arm round them both.

"You are not a bad-looking pair," he said, kissing first Kitty and then
the baby. "But he's rather pale, Kitty. I think he wants the country."

Kitty said nothing, but she lifted the little white embroidered frock
and looked at the twisted foot. Then Ashe felt her shudder.

"Dear, don't be morbid!" he cried, resentfully. "He will have so much
brains that nobody will remember that. Think of Byron."

Kitty did not seem to have heard.

"I remember so well when I first saw his foot--after your mother told
me--and they brought him to me," she said, slowly. "It seemed to me it
was the end--"

"The end of what?"

"Of my dream."

"What <i>do</i> you mean, Kitty!"

"Do you remember the mask in the 'Tempest'? First Iris, with saffron
wings, and rich Ceres, and great Juno--"

She half closed her eyes.

"Then the nymphs and the reapers--dancing together on 'the short-grassed
green,' the sweetest, gayest show--"

She breathed the words out softly. "Then, suddenly--"

She sat up stiffly and struck her small hands together:

"Prospero starts and speaks. And in a moment--without warning--with 'a
strange, hollow, and confused noise'"--she dragged the words
drearily--"<i>they heavily vanish</i>. That"--she pointed, shuddering, t