ght for an instant
suppose that any hostile act of such a man as Lord Parham, or any malice
of that low-minded woman, could humiliate her son or herself.

Suddenly she saw Kitty's gloves--Kitty's torn and soiled gloves--lying
on the floor. She clasped her trembling hands, trying to steady herself.
Husband and wife were together. What tragedy was passing between them?

Of course there <i>might</i> have been an accident; her thoughts might be all
mistake and illusion. But Lady Tranmore hardly allowed herself to
encourage the alternative of hope. It was like Kitty's audacity to have
come back. Incredible!--unfathomable!--like all she did.

"Her ladyship says, my lady, would you please go up to her room?"

The message was given in Blanche's timid voice. Lady Tranmore started,
looked at the girl, longed to question her, and had not the courage. She
followed mechanically, and in silence. Could she, must she face it?
Yes--for her son's sake. She prayed inwardly that she might meet the
ordeal before her with Christian strength and courage.

* * * * *

The door opened. She saw two figures in the pretty, bright-colored room,
William sat astride upon a chair in front of Kitty, who, like some small
mother-bird, hovered above him, holding what seemed to be a tiny strip
of bread-and-butter, which she was dropping with dainty deliberation
into his mouth. Her face, in spite of the red and swollen eyes, was
alive with fun, and Ashe's laugh reflected hers. The domesticity, the
intimate affection of the scene--before these things Elizabeth Tranmore
stood gasping.

"Dearest mother!" cried Ashe, starting up.

Kitty turned. At sight of Lady Tranmore she hung back; her smiles
departed; her lip quivered.

"William!"--she pursued him and touched him on the shoulder. "I--I
can't--I'm afraid. If mother ever means to speak to me again--come and
tell me."

And, hiding her face, Kitty escaped like a whirlwind. The dressing-room
door closed behind her, and mother and son were left alone.

"Mother!" said Ashe, coming up to her gayly, both hands out-stretched.
"Ask me nothing, dear. Kitty has been a silly child--but things will go
better now. And as for the Parhams--what does it matter?--come and help
me send them to the deuce!"

Lady Tranmore recoiled. For once the good-humor of that handsome
face--pale as the face was--seemed to her an offence--nay, a disgrace.
That what had happened had been no mere <i>co