She and Margaret French discussed the matter a little, sotto voce, while Margaret went on with the invitations and Lady Tranmore made a French toy dance and spin for the babe’s amusement.  Their tone was one of close and friendly intimacy, an intimacy based clearly upon one common interest—­their relation to Kitty.  Margaret French was one of those beings in whom, for our salvation, this halting, hurried world of ours is still on the whole rich.  She was unmarried, thirty-five, and poor.  She lived with her brother, a struggling doctor, and she had come across Kitty in the first months of Kitty’s married life, on some fashionable Soldiers’ Aid Committee, where Margaret had done the work and Kitty with the other great ladies had reaped the fame.  Kitty had developed a fancy for her, and presently could not live without her.  But Margaret, though it soon became evident that she had taken Kitty and, in due time, the child—­Ashe, too, for the matter of that—­deep into her generous heart, preserved a charming measure in the friendship offered her.  She would owe Kitty nothing, either socially or financially.  When Kitty’s smart friends appeared, she vanished.  Nobody in her own world ever heard her mention the name of Lady Kitty Ashe, largely as that name was beginning to figure in the gossip of the day.  But there were few things concerning the Hill Street menage that Lady Tranmore could not safely and rightly discuss with her; and even Ashe himself went to her for counsel.

“I am afraid this has made things worse than ever with the Parhams,” said Lady Tranmore, presently.

Margaret shook her head anxiously.

“I hope Kitty won’t throw over their dinner next week.”

“She is talking of it!”

“Yesterday she had almost made up her mind,” said Margaret, reluctantly. 
“Perhaps you will persuade her.  But she has been terribly angry with
Lord Parham—­and with Lady P., too.”

“And it was to be a reconciliation dinner, after the old nonsense between her and Lady Parham,” sighed Lady Tranmore.  “It was planned for Kitty entirely.  And she is to act something, isn’t she, with that young De La Riviere from the embassy?  I believe the Princess is coming—­expressly to meet her.  I have been hearing of it on all sides.  She can’t throw it over!”

Margaret shrugged her shoulders.  “I believe she will.”

The older lady’s face showed a sudden cloud of indignation.

“William must really put his foot down,” she said, in a low, decided voice.  “It is, of course, most important—­just now—­”

She said no more, but Margaret French looked up, and they exchanged glances.

“Let’s hope,” said Margaret, “that Mr. Ashe will be able to pacify her.  Ah, there she is.”

For the front door closed heavily, and instantly the house was aware from top to toe of a flutter of talk and a frou-frou of skirts.  Kitty ran up the stairs and into the drawing-room, still talking, apparently, to the footman behind her, and stopped short at the sight of Lady Tranmore and Margaret.  A momentary shadow passed across her face; then she came forward all smiles.