ften there."

"It is quite curious," said Kitty, after reflection, "how we dislike
each other. And it is so odd. You know most people like me!"

She looked up at him without a trace of coquetry, rather with a certain
timidity that feared possible rebuff. "That's always been my
difficulty," she went on, "till now. Everybody spoils me. I always get
my own way. In the convent I was indulged and flattered, and then they
wondered that I made all sorts of follies. I want a guide--that's quite
certain--somebody to tell me what to do."

"I would offer myself for the post," said Ashe, "but that I feel
perfectly sure that you would never follow anybody's advice in
anything."

"Yes, I would," she said, wistfully. "I would--"

Ashe's face changed.

"Ah, if you would--"

She sprang up. "Do you see "--she pointed to some figures on a distant
path--"they are coming back from church. You understand?--<i>nobody</i> must
know about my sister. It will come round to Aunt Lina, of course; but I
hope it'll be when I'm gone. If she knew now, I should go back to London
to-day."

Ashe made it clear to her that he would be discretion itself. They left
the bench, but, as they began to ascend the steps, Kitty turned back.

"I wish I hadn't seen her," she said, in a miserable tone, the tears
flooding once more into her eyes.

Ashe looked at her with great kindness, but without speaking. The moment
of sharp pain passed, and she moved on languidly beside him. But there
was an infection in his strong, handsome presence, and her smiles soon
came back. By the time they neared the house, indeed, she seemed to be
in wild spirits again.

Did he know, she asked him, that three more guests were coming that
afternoon--Mr. Darrell, Mr. Louis Harman, <i>and</i>--Mr. Geoffrey Cliffe?
She laid an emphasis on the last name, which made Ashe say, carelessly:

"You want to meet him so much?"

"Of course. Doesn't all the world?"

Ashe replied that he could only answer for himself, and as far as he was
concerned he could do very well without Cliffe's company at all times.

Whereupon Kitty protested with fire that other men were jealous of such
a famous person because women liked him--because--

"Because the man's a coxcomb and the women spoil him?"

"A coxcomb!"

Kitty was up in arms.

"Pray, is he not a great traveller?--<i>a very</i> great traveller?" she
asked, with indignation.

"Certainly, by his own account."

"And a most brilliant wri