Kitty looked at him—a quivering defiance in face and frame; then bent forward.
"Would you like to know—who is the best—the noblest—the handsomest—the most generous—the most delightful man I have ever met?"
Each word came out winged and charged with a strange intensity of passion.
"Do I?" said Cliffe, raising his eyebrows—"do I want to know?"
Her look held him.
"My husband, William Ashe!"
And she fell back, flushed and breathless, like one who throws out a rebel and challenging flag.
Cliffe was silent a moment, observing her.
"Strange!" he said, at last. "It is only when you are miserable you are kind. I could wish you miserable again, chérie."
Tone and look broke into a sombre wildness before which she shrank. Her own violence passed away. She leaned over the side of the boat, struggling with tears.