"Naturally," said Darrell.
"And it always amuses people—doesn't it?"
Kitty clasped her hands round her knees and looked at him with candor.
"Does it?" said Darrell. "It has been done a good deal."
"Oh, of course," said Kitty, impatiently, "mine's not the proper thing. You don't imagine I should try and write like Thackeray, do you? Mine's real people—real things that happened—with just the names altered."
"Ah!" said Darrell, sitting up—"that sounds exciting. Is it libellous?"
"Well, that's just what I want to know," said Kitty, slowly. "Of course, I've made a kind of story out of it. But you'd have to be a great fool not to guess. I've put myself in, and—"
"And Ashe?"
Kitty nodded. "All the novels that are written about politics nowadays—except Dizzy's—are such nonsense, aren't they? I just wanted to describe—from the inside—how a real statesman"—she threw up her head proudly—"lives, and what he does."
"Excellent subject," said Darrell. "Well—anybody else?"