"Of course I guessed that," said Ashe.
"It was Geoffrey brought me the news—here, just as I was starting to go to the Alcots'. Then he said he had something to read me—and it would be delicious to go to Pangbourne—spend the day on the river—and come back from Windsor—at night—by train. And I had a horrid headache—and it was so hot—and you were at the office"—her lip quivered—"and I wanted to hear Geoffrey's poems—and so—"
She interrupted herself, and once more broke down—hiding her face against the chair. But the next moment she felt herself roughly drawn forward, as Ashe knelt beside her.
"Kitty!—look at me! That man behaved to you like a villain?"
She looked up—she saw the handsome, good-humored face transformed—and wrenched herself away.
"He did," she said, bitterly—"like a villain." She began to twist and torment her handkerchief as Ashe had seen her do once before, the small white teeth pressed upon the lower lip—then suddenly she turned upon him—
"I suppose you want me to tell you the story?"
All Kitty in the words! Her frankness, her daring, and the impatient, realistic tone she was apt to impose upon emotion—they were all there.
Ashe rose and began to walk up and down.
"Tell me your part in it," he said, at last—"and as little of that fellow as may be."