XIII
There was silence for a few moments except for Kitty's crying. Ashe still stood beside his writing-table, his hand resting upon it, his eyes on Kitty. Once or twice he began to speak, and stopped. At last he said, with obvious difficulty:
"It's cruel to keep me waiting, Kitty."
"I sent you a telegram first thing this morning." The voice was choked and passionate.
"I never got it."
"Horrid little fiend!" cried Kitty, sitting up and dashing back her hair from her tear-stained cheeks. "I gave a boy half a crown this morning to be at the station with it by eight o'clock. And I couldn't possibly either write or telegraph last night—it was too late."
"Where were you?" said Ashe, slowly. "I went to the Alcots' this morning, and—"
"—the butler told you Madeleine was in bed? So she is. She was ill yesterday morning. There was no coach and no party. I went with Geoffrey."
Kitty held herself erect; her eyes, from which the tears were involuntarily dropping, were fixed on her husband.