Margaret French, who was writing at the farther side of the room, glanced at them furtively from time to time.  She saw that Ashe was trying to charm away the languor of his companion by that talk of his, shrewd, humorous, vehement, well informed, which made him so welcome to the men of his own class and mode of life.  And when he talked to a woman as he was accustomed to talk to men, that woman felt it a compliment.  Under the stimulus of it, Kitty woke up, laughed, argued, teased, with something of her natural animation.

Presently, indeed, the voices had sunk so much and the heads had drawn so close together that Margaret French slipped away, under the impression that they were discussing matters to which she was not meant to listen.

She had hardly closed the door when Kitty drew herself away from Ashe, and holding his arm with both hands looked strangely into his eyes.

“You’re awfully good to me, William.  But, you know—­you don’t tell me secrets!”

“What do you mean, darling?”

“You don’t tell me the real secrets—­what Lord Palmerston used to tell to Lady Palmerston!”

“How do you know what he used to tell her?” said Ashe, with a laugh.  But his forehead had reddened.

“One hears—­and one guesses—­from the letters that have been published.  Oh, I understand quite well!  You can’t trust me!”

Ashe turned aside and began to gather up his papers.

“Of course,” said Kitty, a little hoarsely, “I know it’s my own fault, because you used to tell me much more.  I suppose it was the way I behaved to Lord Parham?”

She looked at him rather tremulously.  It was the first time since her illness began that she had referred to the incidents at Haggart.

“Look here!” said Ashe, in a tone of decision; “I shall really give up talking politics to you if it only reminds you of disagreeable things.”

She took no notice.

“Is Lord Parham behaving well to you—­now—­William?”

Ashe colored hotly.  As a matter of fact, in his own opinion, Lord Parham was behaving vilely.  A measure of first-rate importance for which he was responsible was already in danger of being practically shelved, simply, as it seemed to him, from a lack of elementary trustworthiness in Lord Parham.  But as to this he had naturally kept his own counsel with Kitty.

“He is not the most agreeable of customers,” he said, gayly.  “But I shall get through.  Pegging away does it.”

“And then to see how our papers flatter him!” cried Kitty.  “How little people know, who think they know!  It would be amusing to show the world the real Lord Parham.”

She looked at her husband with an expression that struck him disagreeably.  He threw away his cigarette, and his face changed.

“What we have to do, my dear Kitty, is simply to hold our tongues.”

Kitty sat up in some excitement.

“That man never hears the truth!”