"Hope you've been counting the 'I's.' I make it fifty-seven.—K."
And in the corner of the paper a thumb-nail sketch of himself, perorating, with a garland of capital I's round his neck.
The Premier's face became brick-red, then gray again. He folded up the paper and put it in his waistcoat-pocket.
The meeting had broken up. For the common herd, it was to be followed by sports in the park and refreshments in big tents. For the gentry, Lady Kitty had a garden-party to which Royalty was coming. And as her guests streamed out of the marquee, Lord Parham approached his hostess.
"I think this belongs to you, Lady Kitty." And taking from his pocket a folded slip of paper he offered it to her.
Kitty looked at him. Her color was high, her eyes sparkled.
"Nothing to do with me!" she said, gayly, as she glanced at it. "But I'll look for the owner."
"Sorry to give you the trouble," said Lord Parham, with a ceremonious inclination. Then, turning to Ashe, he remarked that he was extremely tired—worn out, in fact—and would ask his host's leave to desert the garden-party while he attended to some most important letters. Ashe offered to escort him to the house. "On the contrary, look after your guests," said the Premier, dryly, and, beckoning to the Liberal peer who had been his chairman, he engaged him in conversation, and the two presently vanished through a window open to the terrace.
Kitty had been joined meanwhile by Eddie Helston, and the two stood talking together, a flushed, excited pair. Ashe overtook them.
"May I speak to you a moment, Kitty?"