Kitty, however, fell into a reverie, after which she let him see a face of the same startling sweetness as she had several times shown him of late.
"Do you want me to be nice to her?" She nestled up to him.
"Bind her to your chariot wheels, madam! You can!" said Ashe, slipping a hand round hers.
Kitty pondered.
"Well, then, I won't tell her that I know he's still in love with the Frenchwoman. But it's on the tip of my tongue."
"Heavens!" cried Ashe. "The Vicomtesse D—-, the lady of the poems? But she's dead! I thought that was over long ago."
Kitty was silent for a moment, then said, with low-voiced emphasis:
"That any one could write those poems, and then think of Mary!"
"Yes, the poems were fine," said Ashe, "but make-believe!"
Kitty protested indignantly. Ashe bantered her a little on being one of the women who were the making of Cliffe.