“For Lady Kitty?  I should think she managed to amuse herself pretty well.”

“She seems to me the most deplorable tragic little person,” said Ashe, slowly.

Miss Lyster laughed.

“I really don’t see it,” she said.

“Oh yes, you do,” he persisted—­“if you think a moment.  Be kind to her—­won’t you?”

She drew herself up with a cold dignity.

“I confess that she has never attracted me in the least.”

Ashe returned to his dinner, dimly conscious that he had spoken like a fool.

When the ladies had withdrawn, the conversation fell on some important news from the Far East contained in the Sunday papers that Geoffrey Cliffe had brought down, and presumed to form part of the despatches which the two ministers staying in the house had received that afternoon by Foreign Office messenger.  The government of Teheran was in one of its periodical fits of ill-temper with England; had been meddling with Afghanistan, flirting badly with Russia, and bringing ridiculous charges against the British minister.  An expedition to Bushire was talked of, and the Radical press was on the war-path.  The cabinet minister said little.  A Lord Privy Seal, reverentially credited with advising royalty in its private affairs, need have no views on the Persian Gulf.  But Ashe was appealed to and talked well.  The minister at Teheran was an old friend of his, and he described the personal attacks made on him for political reasons by the Shah and his ministers with a humor which kept the table entertained.

Suddenly Cliffe interposed.  He had been listening with restlessness, though Ashe, with pointed courtesy, had once or twice included him in the conversation.  And presently, at a somewhat dramatic moment, he met a statement of Ashe’s with a direct and violent contradiction.  Ashe flushed, and a duel began between the two men of which the company were soon silent spectators.  Ashe had the resources of official knowledge; Cliffe had been recently on the spot, and pushed home the advantage of the eye-witness with a covert insolence which Ashe bore with surprising carelessness and good-temper.  In the end Cliff e said some outrageous things, at which Ashe laughed; and Lord Grosville abruptly dissolved the party.

Ashe went smiling out of the dining-room, caressing a fine white spaniel, as though nothing had happened.  In crossing the hall Harman found himself alone with the Dean, who looked serious and preoccupied.

“That was a curious spectacle,” said Harman.  “Ashe’s equanimity was amazing.”

“I had rather have seen him angrier,” said the Dean, slowly.

“He was always a very tolerant, easy-going fellow.”

The Dean shook his head.

“A touch of soeva indignatio now and then would complete him.”

“Has he got it in him?”

“Perhaps not,” said the little Dean, with a flash of expression that dignified all his frail person.  “But without it he will hardly make a great man.”