Mary laughed.
"Poor Kitty! She tried to flirt with him long ago—just after she arrived in London, fresh out of the convent. It was so funny! He told me afterwards he never was so embarrassed in his life—this baby making eyes at him! And now—oh no!"
"Why not now? Lady Kitty's very much the rage, and Mr. Cliffe likes notoriety."
"But a notoriety with—well, with some style, some distinction! Kitty's sort is so cheap and silly."
"Ah, well, she's not to be despised," said Lady Parham. "She's as clever as she can be. But her husband will have to keep her in order."
"Can he?" said Mary. "Won't she always be in his way?"
"Always, I should think. But he must have known what he was about. Why didn't his mother interfere? Such a family!—such a history!"
"She did interfere," said Mary. "We all did our best"—she dropped her voice—"I know I did. But it was no use. If men like spoiled children they must have them, I suppose. Let's hope he'll learn how to manage her. Shall we go on? I promised to meet my supper-partner in the library."
They moved away.