"Why did you come in to visit me, Kitty?" he said, in a low voice.
"I don't know," was her indifferent reply, and her hand pulled itself
away, though not with violence.
"I wish I could understand you, Kitty." His tone was not quite steady.
"Well, I don't understand myself!" said Kitty, shortly, reaching out for
a bunch of roses that Margaret had just brought her, and burying her
face among them.
"Perhaps, if you submitted the problem to me," said Ashe, laughing, "we
might be able to thresh it out together!"
He folded his arms and leaned against the foot of the bed, delighting
his eyes with the vision of her amid the folds of muslin and lace, and
all the costly refinements of pillow and coverlet with which she liked
to surround herself at that hour of the morning. She might have been a
French princess of the old regime, receiving her court.
Kitty shook her head. The roses fell idly from her hands, and made
bright patches of blush pink about her. Ashe went on:
"Anyway, dear, don't give silly tongues
too good a handle!"
He threw her a gay comrade's look, as though to say that they both knew
the folly of the world, but he perhaps the better, as he was the elder.
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