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Updated: May 8, 2025
And so saying, Ashe lounged away, attracted by the bow and smile of a pretty Frenchwoman, with whom it was always agreeable to chat. "Ashe trifles it as usual," said Cliffe, as he and Mary forced a passage into one of the smaller rooms. "Is there anything in the world that he really cares about?" Mary looked at him with a start. It was almost on her lips to say, "Yes! his wife."
"Take me down to supper, Mr. Cliffe. I can't wait for Lord Hubert any more, I'm so hungry!" "Enchanted!" said Cliffe, the color leaping into his tanned face as he looked down upon the goddess. "But I came to find " "Miss Lyster? Oh, she is gone in with Mr. Darrell. Come with me. I have a ticket for the reserved tent. We shall have a delicious corner to ourselves."
And she rustled away followed by her daughters. Kitty came flying into the inner room followed by Cliffe. "What have I done?" she said, breathlessly, addressing Harman, who rose to greet her. "Mayn't one play the piano here on Sundays?" "That depends," said Harman, "on what you play." "Who made your English Sunday?" said Kitty, impetuously. "Je vous demande who?"
"Of course, it all depends on how well it's done," threw in Cliffe. Kitty laughed. "That's judging by results. I look to the motive. I repeat, if I powder and paint, it's not because I'm vain, but because it's my painful duty to give you pleasure." "And if it doesn't give me pleasure?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Call me stupid then not vain. I ought to have done it better."
"We must make some little allowance," said my uncle, with a sudden return to his jaunty manner. "When a man can brew a dish of chocolate, or tie a cravat, as Ambrose does, he may claim consideration. The fact is that the poor fellow was valet to Lord Avon, that he was at Cliffe Royal upon the fatal night of which I have spoken, and that he is most devoted to his old master.
"By-the-way, do you know that Geoffrey Cliffe is in Venice?" Madame d'Estrées opened her eyes. "Est-il possible? Oh! but Kitty has forgotten all about him." "Of course," said Harman. "I am told he has been seen with the Ricci." Madame d'Estrées raised her shoulders this time in addition to her eyes. Then her face clouded. "I believe," she said, slowly, "that woman may come here this afternoon."
Kitty was silent for a moment, then said, with low-voiced emphasis: "That any one could write those poems, and then think of Mary!" "Yes, the poems were fine," said Ashe, "but make-believe!" Kitty protested indignantly. Ashe bantered her a little on being one of the women who were the making of Cliffe. "Say what you like!" she said, drawing a quick breath.
That will tell you about the deserts." "And the devils?" "Ah, I keep them to myself." "Do you?" she said, softly. "I have just read your poems over again." Cliffe gave a slight start, then looked indifferent. "Have you? But they were written three years ago. Dieu merci, one finds new devils like new acquaintances." She shook her head. "What do you mean?" he asked her, half amused, half arrested.
"I say" the other stood still, in genuine consternation and distress "you don't mean to say that there's that in it!" "You notice that the difference is not in what Ashe says, but in how he says it. He avoids all personal collision with Cliffe. The government stick to their case, but Ashe mentions everybody but Cliffe, and confutes all arguments but his.
It was as if, like the prince in the fairy tale, some iron band round her heart had given way. She seemed to dance through the house; she devoured her child with kisses; and she was even willing sometimes to let William tell her what his mother suspected of the progress of Mary's affair with Geoffrey Cliffe, though she carefully avoided speaking directly to Lady Tranmore about it.
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