“I say”—­the other stood still, in genuine consternation and distress—­“you don’t mean to say that there’s that in it!”

“You notice that the difference is not in what Ashe says, but in how he says it.  He avoids all personal collision with Cliffe.  The government stick to their case, but Ashe mentions everybody but Cliffe, and confutes all arguments but his.  And meanwhile, of course, the truth is that Cliffe is the head and front of the campaign, and if he threw up to-morrow, everything would quiet down.”

“And Lady Kitty is flirting with him at this particular moment?  Damned bad taste and bad feeling, to say the least of it!”

“You won’t find one of the Bristol lot consider that kind of thing when their blood is up!” said the other.  “You remember the tales of old Lord Blackwater?”

“But is there really any truth in it?  Or is it mere gossip?”

“Well, I hear that the behavior of both of them at Grosville Park last week was such that Lady Grosville vows she will never ask either of them again.  And at Ascot, at Lord’s, the opera, Lady Kitty sits with him, talks with him, walks with him, the whole time, and won’t look at any one else.  They must be asked together or neither will come—­and ‘society,’ as far as I can make out, thinks it a good joke and is always making plans to throw them together.”

“Can’t Lady Tranmore do anything?”

“I don’t know.  They say she is very unhappy about it.  Certainly she looks ill and depressed.”

“And Ashe?”

His companion hesitated.  “I don’t like to say it, but, of course, you know there are many people who will tell you that Ashe doesn’t care twopence what his wife does so long as she is nice to him, and he can read his books and carry on his politics as he pleases!”

“Ashe always strikes me as the soul of honor,” said the other, indignantly.

“Of course—­for himself.  But a more fatalist believer in liberty than Ashe doesn’t exist—­liberty especially to damn yourself—­if you must and will.”

“It would be hard to extend that doctrine to a wife,” said the other, with a grave, uncomfortable laugh.

* * * * *

Meanwhile the man whose affairs they had been discussing walked home, wrapped in solitary and disagreeable thought.  As he neared the Marlborough House corner a carriage passed him.  It was delayed a moment by other carriages, and as it halted beside him Ashe recognized Lady M——­, the hostess of the fancy ball, and a very old friend of his parents.  He took off his hat.  The lady within recognized him and inclined slightly—­very slightly and stiffly.  Ashe started a little and walked on.