And when he talked to a woman
as he was accustomed to talk to men, that woman felt it a compliment.
Under the stimulus of it, Kitty woke up, laughed, argued, teased, with
something of her natural animation.
Presently, indeed, the voices had sunk so much and the heads had drawn
so close together that Margaret French slipped away, under the
impression that they were discussing matters to which she was not meant
to listen.
She had hardly closed the door when Kitty drew herself away from Ashe,
and holding his arm with both hands looked strangely into his eyes.
"You're awfully good to me, William. But, you know--you don't tell me
secrets!"
"What do you mean, darling?"
"You don't tell me the real secrets--what Lord Palmerston used to tell
to Lady Palmerston!"
"How do you know what he used to tell her?" said Ashe, with a laugh. But
his forehead had reddened.
"One hears--and one guesses--from the letters that have been published.
Oh, I understand quite well! You can't trust me!"
Ashe turned aside and began to gather up his papers.
"Of course," said Kitty, a little hoarsely, "I know it's my own fault,
because you used to tell me much more.
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