"You little goose!" cried Ashe—"what are you about?"
"Burning a coward in effigy," said Kitty, between her teeth.
Ashe thrust his hands into his pockets.
"I wish to God you'd forget the creature, instead of flattering him with these attentions!"
Kitty made no reply, but as she drew the fire together Ashe captured her hand.
"What's he been doing now, Kitty?"
"There are his poems," said Kitty, pointing to the chair. "The last one is about me."
"May I be allowed to see it?"
"It isn't there."
"Ah! I see. You've topped the pile with it. With your leave, I'll delay its doom." He snatched the leaf from its stick, and bending down read it by the light of the burning paper. Kitty watched him, frowning, her hand on her hip, the white wrap she wore over her night-dress twining round her in close folds a slender, brooding sorceress, some Canidia or Simaetha, interrupted in her ritual of hate.