ng whiteness, above which the fair
head--negligently thrown back--shone out on a red background, made by
the velvet chair in which she sat.

The Dean was placed close beside her, and was clearly enjoying himself
enormously. And in front of her, absorbed in her, engaged, indeed, in
hot and furious debate with her, stood the great man who had just
arrived.

"How do you do, Cliffe?" said Ashe, as he approached.

Geoffrey Cliffe turned sharply, and a perfunctory greeting passed
between the two men.

"When did you arrive?" said Ashe, as he threw himself into an arm-chair.

"Last Tuesday. But that don't matter," said Cliffe,
impatiently--"nothing matters--except that I must somehow defeat Lady
Kitty!"

And he stood, looking down upon the girl in front of him, his hands on
his sides, his queer countenance twitching with suppressed laughter. An
odd figure, tall, spare, loosely jointed, surmounted by a pale parchment
face, which showed a somewhat protruding chin, a long and delicate nose,
and fine brows under a strange overhanging mass of fair hair. He had the
dissipated, battered look of certain Vandyck cavaliers, and certainly no
handsomeness of any accepted kind. But as Ashe well knew, the aspect and
personality of Geoffrey Cliffe possessed for innumerable men and women,
in English "society" and out of it, a fascination it was easier to laugh
at than to explain.

Lady Kitty had eyes certainly for no one else. When he spoke of
"defeating" her, she laughed her defiance, and a glance of battle passed
between her and Cliffe. Cliffe, still holding her with his look,
considered what new ground to break.

"What is the subject?" said Ashe.

"That men are vainer than women," said Kitty. "It's so true, it's hardly
worth saying--isn't it? Mr. Cliffe talks nonsense about our love of
clothes--and of being admired. As if that were vanity! Of course it's
only our sense of duty."

"Duty?" cried Cliffe, twisting his mustache. "To whom?"

"To the men, of course! If we didn't like clothes, if we didn't like
being admired--where would you be?"

"Personally, I could get on," said Cliffe. "You expect us to be too much
on our knees."

"As if we should ever get you there if it didn't amuse you!" said Kitty.
"Hypocrites! If we don't dress, paint, chatter, and tell lies for you,
you won't look at us--and if we do--"

"Of course, it all depends on how well it's done," threw in Cliffe.

Kitty laughed.

"That's judging by results. I