"Oh yes—often. I mean—to help you—in my own way."
Ashe's laugh was a sound of pure annoyance.
"But please understand, it would be infinitely better if you would help me, in my way—in the natural, accepted way—the way that everybody understands."
"The way Lord Parham recommends?" Kitty looked at him quietly. "Never mind, William. I am trying to help you."
Her eyes shone with the strangest glitter. Ashe was conscious of another of those sudden stabs of anxiety about her which he had felt at intervals through the preceding year. His face softened.
"Dear, don't let's talk nonsense! Just look at me sometimes at dinner, and say to yourself, 'William asks me—for his sake—to be nice to Lord Parham.'"
He again drew her to him, but she repulsed him almost with violence.
"Why is he here? Why have we people dining? We ought to be alone—in the dark!"
Her face had become a white mask. Her breast rose and fell, as though she fought with sobs.
"Kitty—what do you mean?" He recoiled in dismay.