city. No flounces, no fanfaronnade. A
little girlish dress, that made the girlish figure seem even frailer and
lighter than he remembered it the night before in the splendors of her
Paris gown. Her large black hat emphasized the whiteness of her brow,
the brilliance of her most beautiful eyes; and then all the rest was
insubstantial sprite and airy nothing, to be crushed in one hand. And
yet what untamed, indomitable things breathed from it--a self surely
more self, more intensely, obstinately alive than any he had yet known.

Her attack had brought the involuntary blood to his cheeks, which
annoyed him. But he invited her to say why cheerfulness was a vice. She
replied that no one should look success--as much as he did.

"And you scorn success?"

"Scorn it!" She drew a long breath, clasped both her hands above her
head, then slowly let the thin arms fall again. "Scorn it! What
nonsense! But everybody who hasn't got it hates those who have."

"Don't hate me!" said Ashe, quickly.

"Yes," she said, with stubbornness, "I must. Do you know why I was such
a wild-cat at school? Because some of the other girls were more
important than I--much more important--and richer--and more
beautiful--and people paid them more attention. And that seemed to
<i>burn</i> the heart in me." She pressed her hands to her breast with a
passionate gesture. "You know the French word <i>panache</i>? Well, that's
what I care for --that's what I <i>adore</i>! To be the first--the best--the
most distinguished. To be envied--and pointed at--obeyed when I lift my
finger--and then to come to some great, glorious, tragic end!"

Ashe moved impatiently.

"Lady Kitty, I don't like to hear you talk like this. It's wild, and
it's also--I beg your pardon--"

"In bad taste?" she said, catching him up breathlessly. "That's what you
meant, isn't it? You said it to me before, when I called you handsome."

"Pshaw!" he said, in vexation. She watched him throw himself back and
feel for his cigarette-case; a gesture of her hand gave him leave; she
waited, smiling, till he had taken a few calming whiffs. Then she gently
moved towards him.

"Don't be angry with me!" she said, in a sweet, low voice. "Don't you
understand how hard it is--to have that nature--and then to come here
out of the convent--where one had lived on dreams--and find one's
self--"

She turned her head away. Ashe put down his new-lit cigarette.

"Find yourself?" he repeated.

"Everybody