it out--that's all!" said Kitty,
with vivacity. "The man who marries Mary is done for."

"Not at all. Mary's money will give him the pedestal he wants, and trust
Cliffe to take care of his own individuality afterwards! Now, if you'll
transfer your alarms to <i>Mary</i>, I'm with you!"

"Oh! of <i>course</i> he'll be unkind to her. She may lay her account for
that. But it's the <i>marrying</i> her!" And Kitty's upper-lip curled under a
slow disdain.

William laughed out.

"Kitty, really!--you remind me, please, of Miss Jane Taylor:

"'I did not think there could be found--a little heart so hard!'

Mary is thirty; she would like to be married. And why not? She'll give
quite as good as she gets."

"Well, she won't get--anything. Geoffrey Cliffe thinks of no one but
himself."

Ashe's eyebrows went up.

"Oh, well, all men are selfish--and the women don't mind."

"It depends on how it's done," said Kitty.

Ashe declared that Cliffe was just an ordinary person, "l'homme sensuel
moyen"--with a touch of genius. Except for that, no better and no worse
than other people. What then?--the world was not made up of persons of
enormous virtue like Lord Althorp and Mr. Gladstone. If Mary wanted him
for a husband, and could capture him, both, in his opinion, would have
pretty nearly got their deserts.

Kitty, however, fell into a reverie, after which she let him see a face
of the same startling sweetness as she had several times shown him of
late.

"Do you want me to be nice to her?" She nestled up to him.

"Bind her to your chariot wheels, madam! You can!" said Ashe, slipping a
hand round hers.

Kitty pondered.

"Well, then, I won't tell her that I <i>know</i> he's still in love with the
Frenchwoman. But it's on the tip of my tongue."

"Heavens!" cried Ashe. "The Vicomtesse D---, the lady of the poems? But
she's dead! I thought that was over long ago."

Kitty was silent for a moment, then said, with low-voiced emphasis:

"That any one could write those poems, and then <i>think</i> of Mary!"

"Yes, the poems were fine," said Ashe, "but make-believe!"

Kitty protested indignantly. Ashe bantered her a little on being one of
the women who were the making of Cliffe.

"Say what you like!" she said, drawing a quick breath. "But, often and
often, he says divine things--divinely! I feel them there!" And she
lifted both hands to her breast with an impulsive gesture.

"Goddess!" said Ashe, kissing her hand becaus