Her face, in spite of the red and swollen eyes, was
alive with fun, and Ashe's laugh reflected hers. The domesticity, the
intimate affection of the scene--before these things Elizabeth Tranmore
stood gasping.
"Dearest mother!" cried Ashe, starting up.
Kitty turned. At sight of Lady Tranmore she hung back; her smiles
departed; her lip quivered.
"William!"--she pursued him and touched him on the shoulder. "I--I
can't--I'm afraid. If mother ever means to speak to me again--come and
tell me."
And, hiding her face, Kitty escaped like a whirlwind. The dressing-room
door closed behind her, and mother and son were left alone.
"Mother!" said Ashe, coming up to her gayly, both hands out-stretched.
"Ask me nothing, dear. Kitty has been a silly child--but things will go
better now. And as for the Parhams--what does it matter?--come and help
me send them to the deuce!"
Lady Tranmore recoiled. For once the good-humor of that handsome
face--pale as the face was--seemed to her an offence--nay, a disgrace.
That what had happened had been no mere
contretemps, no mere accident
of trains and coaches, was plain enough from Kitty's eyes--from all that
William did
not say, no less than from what he said.
Pages:
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366