Kitty nodded.
"How can I tell? Of course, she is often there."
"It is quite curious," said Kitty, after reflection, "how we dislike each other. And it is so odd. You know most people like me!"
She looked up at him without a trace of coquetry, rather with a certain timidity that feared possible rebuff. "That's always been my difficulty," she went on, "till now. Everybody spoils me. I always get my own way. In the convent I was indulged and flattered, and then they wondered that I made all sorts of follies. I want a guide—that's quite certain—somebody to tell me what to do."
"I would offer myself for the post," said Ashe, "but that I feel perfectly sure that you would never follow anybody's advice in anything."
"Yes, I would," she said, wistfully. "I would—"
Ashe's face changed.
"Ah, if you would—"
She sprang up. "Do you see "—she pointed to some figures on a distant path—"they are coming back from church. You understand?—nobody must know about my sister. It will come round to Aunt Lina, of course; but I hope it'll be when I'm gone. If she knew now, I should go back to London to-day."
Ashe made it clear to her that he would be discretion itself. They left the bench, but, as they began to ascend the steps, Kitty turned back.