"In any case," said Cliffe, "I suppose our friend here is sure of one or other of the big posts?"
"William Ashe? Oh, I suppose so, unless some intrigue gets in the way." Darrell dropped his voice. "Parham doesn't, in truth, hit it off with him very well. Ashe is too clever, and Parham doesn't understand his paradoxes."
"Also I gather," said Cliffe, with a smile, "that Lady Parham has her say?"
Darrell shrugged his shoulders.
"It sounds incredible that one should still have to reckon with that kind of thing at this time of day. But I dare say it's true."
"However, I imagine Lady Kitty—by-the-way, how much longer shall we give her?"—Cliffe looked at his watch with a frown—"may be trusted to take care of that."
Darrell merely raised his eyebrows, without replying. "What, not a match for one Lady Parham?" said Cliffe, with a laugh. "I should have thought—from my old recollections of her—she would have been a match for twenty?"
"Oh, if she cared to try."
"She is not ambitious?"
"Certainly; but not always for the same thing."