"I can only be grateful to you," he said, and stood waiting.
"At least you will understand me," said the Dean. "You are not one of the small souls. Well—here it is! Lady Kitty has been an unfaithful wife. She does not attempt to deny or cover it. But in my belief she loves you still, and has always loved you. And when you married her, you must, I think, have realized that you were running no ordinary risks. The position and antecedents of her mother—the bringing up of the poor child herself—the wildness of her temperament, and the absence of anything like self-discipline and self-control, must surely have made you anxious? I certainly remember that Lady Tranmore was full of fears."
He looked for a reply.
"Yes," said Ashe, "I was anxious. Or, rather, I saw the risks clearly. But I was in love, and I thought that love could do everything."
The Dean looked at him curiously—hesitated—and at last said:
"Forgive me. Did you take your task seriously enough?—did you give Lady Kitty all the help you might?"
The blue eyes scanned Ashe's face. Ashe turned away, as though the words had touched a sore.
"I know very well," he said, unsteadily, "that I seemed to you and others a weak and self-indulgent fool. All I can say is, it was not in me to play the tutor and master to my wife."
"She was so young, so undisciplined," said the Dean, earnestly. "Did you guard her as you might?"
A touch of impatience appeared in Ashe.