Extreme youth—­innocence—­protest—­pain—­was it with these touching and pleading impressions, after all, that his first talk with Kitty Bristol had left him?  Yet what a little etourdie!  How lacking in the reserves, the natural instincts and shrinkings of the well-bred English girl!

* * * * *

Darrell and Ashe walked home together, through a windy night which was bringing out April scents even from the London grass and lilac-bushes.

“Well,” said Darrell, as they stepped into the Green Park, “so you’re safely in.  Congratulate you, old fellow.  Anything else?”

“Yes.  They’ve offered me Hickson’s place.  More fools they, don’t you think?”

“Good!  Upon my word, Bill, you’ve got your foot in the stirrup now!  Hope you’ll continue to be civil to poor devils like me.”

The speaker looked up smiling, but neither the tone nor the smile was really cordial.  Ashe felt the embarrassment that he had once or twice felt before in telling Darrell news of good fortune.  There seemed to be something in Darrell that resented it—­under an outer show of felicitation.

However, they went on talking of the political moment and its prospects, and of Ashe’s personal affairs.  As to the last, Darrell questioned, and Ashe somewhat reluctantly replied.  It appeared that his allowance was to be largely raised, that his paralyzed father, in fact, was anxious to put him in possession of a substantial share in the income of the estates, that one of the country-houses was to be made over to him, and so on.

“Which means, of course, that they want you to marry,” said Darrell.  “Well, you’ve only to throw the handkerchief.”

They were passing a lamp as he spoke, and the light shone on his long, pale face—­a face of discontent—­with its large sunken eyes and hollow cheeks.

Ashe treated the remark as “rot,” and endeavored to get away from his own affairs by discussing the party they had just left.

“How does she get all those people together?  It’s astonishing!”

“Well, I always liked Madame d’Estrees well enough,” said Darrell, “but, upon my word, she has done a beastly mean thing in bringing that girl over.”

“You mean?”—­Ashe hesitated—­“that her own position is too doubtful?”

“Doubtful, my dear fellow!” Darrell laughed unpleasantly.  “I never really understood what it all meant till the other night when old Lady Grosville took and told me—­more at any rate than I knew before.  The Grosvilles are on the war-path, and they regard the coming of this poor child as the last straw.”

“Why?” said Ashe.

Darrell gave a shrug.  “Well, you know the story of Madame d’Estrees’ step-daughter—­old Blackwater’s daughter?”

“Ah! by his first marriage?  I knew it was something about the step-daughter,” said Ashe, vaguely.

Darrell began to repeat his conversation with Lady Grosville.  The tale threatened presently to become a black one indeed; and at last Ashe stood still in the broad walk crossing the Green Park.