THE atmosphere of the room was charged almost with storm; there was a thrill upon its air, the thrill of pent emotion. Jack stood gazing out of the window; Kitty sat by the fire looking at his broad back almost hungrily, a craving for the clasp of his arms rending her, her hands clenched to the whitening of her finger-nails in the effort to keep control of her feelings.
"What's the use of having fifty thousand a year, if I can't marry the man I want!" she cried, fiercely.
At her words a sudden spasm of pain caught his breath, and twisted his averted face; but he made shift to say in his usual drawl—
"It does seem rather hard lines, little girl. Who is it?"
"Don't call me little girl! I believe you think I'm still a child!" said Kitty.
"Very well, very well—madam. Who is the man? Young Malmesford?"
"As if I should tell you!" cried Kitty.
"Well, you sent for me. I thought you wanted my advice or help, or something, don't you know!" said Jack.
"I want help badly enough," said Kitty; and he turned sharply at her tone to see that her face was very pale in the frame of her black hair. "But how could you help me in this? How could anyone help me? I oughtn't even to talk about it to you!"
"Oh, yes; you ought!" he said, quickly. "You've always talked about everything to me!" He paused awhile, then added, and he could not keep the sadness out of his voice, "So you want someone else to talk to about everything? Who is it? I'll deal with him all right." The last words came savagely.