"You think I am not worthy to know?"
Her eye gleamed.
"What does it matter to you?"
"Oh, nothing! I should have been glad to hear that all was well, and
Ashe's mind at rest about his prospects."
"His prospects!" she repeated, with a scorn which stung. "How
dare we
mention his name here at all?"
Cliffe reddened.
"I dare," he said, calmly.
Kitty looked at him--a quivering defiance in face and frame; then bent
forward.
"Would you like to know--who is the best--the noblest--the
handsomest--the most generous--the most delightful man I have ever met?"
Each word came out winged and charged with a strange intensity of
passion.
"Do I?" said Cliffe, raising his eyebrows--"do I want to know?"
Her look held him.
"My husband, William Ashe!"
And she fell back, flushed and breathless, like one who throws out a
rebel and challenging flag.
Cliffe was silent a moment, observing her.
"Strange!" he said, at last. "It is only when you are miserable you are
kind. I could wish you miserable again,
cherie."
Tone and look broke into a sombre wildness before which she shrank. Her
own violence passed away.
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