The Premier brought the tips of his fingers lightly together, as he resumed his seat.

“Oh! my dear fellow, people were very kind—­too much so!  Yes—­I think it did good—­it did good.  I should now rest and be thankful—­if it weren’t for the Bishops!”

“The Bishops!” said the Rector of the parish standing near.  “What have the Bishops been doing, my lord?”

“Dying,” said Kitty, as she fell into an attitude which commanded both William and Lord Parham.  “They do it on purpose.”

“Another this morning!” said Ashe, throwing up his hands.

“Oh! they die to plague me,” said the Prime Minister, with the air of one on whom the universe weighs heavy.  “There never was such a conspiracy!”

“You should let William appoint them,” said Kitty, leaning her chin upon her hands and studying Lord Parham with eyes all the more brilliant for the dark circles which fatigue, or something else, had drawn round them.

“Ah, to be sure!” said Lord Parham, affably.  “I had forgotten that Ashe was our theologian.  Take me a walk before dinner!” he added, addressing his host.

“But you won’t take his advice,” said Kitty, smiling.

The Premier turned rather sharply.

“How do you know that, Lady Kitty?”

Kitty hesitated—­then said, with the prettiest, slightest laugh: 

“Lady Parham has such strong views—­hasn’t she?—­on Church questions!”

Lord Parham’s feeling was that a more insidiously impertinent question had never been put to him.  He drew himself up.

“If she has, Lady Kitty, I can only say I know very little about them!  She very wisely keeps them to herself.”

“Ah!” said Kitty, as her lovely eyebrows lifted, “that shows how little people know.”

“I don’t quite understand,” said Lord Parham.  “To what do you allude, Lady Kitty?”

Kitty laughed.  She raised her eyes to the Rector, a spare High Churchman, who had retreated uncomfortably behind Lady Tranmore.

“Some one—­said to me last week—­that Lady Parham had saved the Church!”

The Prime Minister rose.  “I must have a little exercise before dinner.  Your gardens, Ashe—­is there time?”

Ashe, scarlet with discomfort and annoyance, carried his visitor off.  As he did so, he passed his wife.  Kitty turned her little head, looked at him half shyly, half defiantly.  The Dean saw the look; saw also that Ashe deliberately avoided it.

The party presently began to disperse.  The Dean found himself beside his hostess—­strolling over the lawn towards the house.  He observed her attentively—­vexed with her, and vexed for her!  Surely she was thinner than he had ever seen her.  A little more, and her beauty would suffer seriously.  Coming he knew not whence, there lit upon him the sudden and painful impression of something undermined, something consumed from within.

“Lady Kitty, do you ever rest?” he asked her, unexpectedly.