“He is dying!” said Kitty, in the same low, remote voice, her gaze still fixed on Ashe.

“Kitty!  Don’t say such things—­don’t think them!” Ashe had himself grown pale.  “At any rate”—­he turned on her reproachfully—­“tell me why you think them.  Confide in me, Kitty.  Come and talk to me about the boy.  But three-fourths of the time you behave as though there were nothing the matter with him—­you won’t even see the doctor—­and then you say a thing like this!”

She was silent a moment; then with a wild gesture of the head and shoulders, as of one shaking off a weight, she moved away—­drew on her long gloves—­and going to the dressing-table, gave a touch of rouge to her cheeks.

“Kitty, why did you say that?” Ashe followed her entreatingly.

“I don’t know.  At least, I couldn’t explain.  Now, shall we go down?”

Ashe drew a long breath.  His frail son held the inmost depths of his heart.

“You have made the party an abomination to me!” he said, with energy.

“Don’t believe me, then—­believe the doctor,” said Kitty, her face changing.  “And as for Lord Parham, I’ll try, William—­I’ll try.”

She passed him—­the loveliest of visions—­flung him a hand to kiss—­and was gone.

XVI

There could be no question that in all external matters Lord Parham was that evening magnificently entertained by the Home Secretary and Lady Kitty Ashe.  The chef was extravagantly good; the wines, flowers, and service lavish to a degree which made both Ashe and Lady Tranmore secretly uncomfortable.  Lady Tranmore in particular detested “show,” influenced as much by aristocratic instinct as by moral qualms; and there was to her mind a touch of vulgarity in the entertaining at Haggart, which might be tolerated in the case of financiers and nouveaux riches, while, as connected with her William and his wife, who had no need whatever to bribe society, it was unbecoming and undignified.  Moreover, the winter had been marked by a financial crisis caused entirely by Kitty’s extravagance.  A large sum of money had had to be raised from the Tranmore estates; times were not good for the landed interest, and the head agent had begun to look grave.

If only William would control his wife!  But Haggart contained one of those fine, slowly gathered libraries which make the distinction of so many English country-houses; and in the intervals of his official work, which even in holiday time was considerable, Ashe could not be beguiled from the beloved company of his books to help Kitty sign checks, or scold her about expenditure.

So Kitty signed and signed; and the smaller was Ashe’s balance, the more, it seemed, did Kitty spend.  Then, of course, every few months, there were deficits which had to be made good.  And as to the debts which accumulated, Lady Tranmore preferred not to think about them.  It all meant future trouble and clipping of wings for William; and it all entered into that deep and hidden resentment, half anxious love, half alien temperament, which Elizabeth Tranmore felt towards Ashe’s wife.