"And now I understand!" cried Kitty, triumphantly. "You detest my best friend."
The Dean laughed, protested, and went. Ashe, who had been writing letters while Kitty and the Dean were talking, escorted the old man to the door.
When he returned he found Kitty sitting with her hands in her lap, lost apparently in thought.
"Darling," he said, looking at his watch, "I must be off directly, but I should like to see the boy."
Kitty started. She rang, and the child was brought down. He sat on Kitty's knee, and Ashe coming to the sofa, threw an arm round them both.
"You are not a bad-looking pair," he said, kissing first Kitty and then the baby. "But he's rather pale, Kitty. I think he wants the country."
Kitty said nothing, but she lifted the little white embroidered frock and looked at the twisted foot. Then Ashe felt her shudder.
"Dear, don't be morbid!" he cried, resentfully. "He will have so much brains that nobody will remember that. Think of Byron."
Kitty did not seem to have heard.