"You sha'n't bear anything horrible," he said, with energy. "There are plenty of people who will take care of that. Do you mind telling me—have there been special difficulties just lately?"
"Oh yes," she said, calmly, looking up, "awful! Maman's debts are—well—ridiculous. For that alone I don't think she'll be able to stay in London—apart from—Alice."
The name recalled all she had just passed through, and her face quivered. "What will she do?" she said, under her breath. "How will she punish us?—and why?—for what?"
Her dread, her ignorance, her fierce, bruised vanity, her struggling pride, her helplessness, appealed amazingly to the man beside her. He began to talk to her very gently and wisely, begging her to let the past alone, to think only what could be done to help the present. In the first place, would she not let his mother be of use to her?
He could answer for Lady Tranmore. Why shouldn't Lady Kitty spend the summer with her in Scotland? No doubt Madame d'Estrées would be abroad.
"Then I must go with her," said Kitty.
Ashe hesitated.
"Of course, if she wishes it."
"But I don't know that she will wish it. She is not very fond of me," said Kitty, doubtfully. "Yes, I would like to stay with Lady Tranmore. But will your cousin be there?"
"Miss Lyster?"