Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/25

Rh allowance was to be largely raised—that his paralyzed father, in fact, was anxious to put him in possession of a substantial share in the income of the estates,—that one of the country houses was to be made over to him—and so on.

"Which means, of course,—that they want you to marry," said Darrell. "Well, you've only to throw the handkerchief."

They were passing a lamp as he spoke, and the light shone on his long, pale face—a face of discontent—with its large, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks.

Ashe treated the remark as "rot," and endeavored to get away from his own affairs by discussing the party they had just left.

"How does she get all those people together? It's astonishing!"

"Well, I always liked Madame d'Estrées well enough," said Darrell, "but, upon my word, she has done a beastly mean thing in bringing that girl over."

"You mean"—Ashe hesitated—"that her own position is too doubtful?"

"Doubtful!—my dear fellow!" Darrell laughed unpleasantly. "I never really understood what it all meant till the other night, when old Lady Grosville took and told me,—more, at any rate, than I knew before. The Grosvilles are on the war-path, and they regard the coming of this poor child as the last straw."

"Why?" said Ashe.

Darrell gave a shrug. "Well, you know the story of Madame d'Estrées' stepdaughter?—old Blackwater's daughter."

"Ah! by his first marriage? I knew it was something about the stepdaughter," said Ashe, vaguely.

Darrell began to repeat his conversation with Lady Grosville. The tale threatened presently to become a black one indeed; and at last Ashe stood still in the broad walk crossing the Green Park.

"Look here," he said, resolutely—"don't tell me any more. I don't want to hear any more."

"Why?" asked Darrell, in amazement.

"Because—" Ashe hesitated a moment. "Well, I don't want it to be made impossible for me to go to Madame d'Estrées' again. Besides—we've just eaten her salt!"

"You're a good friend!" said Darrell, not without something of a sneer.

Ashe was ruffled by the tone, but tried not to show it. He merely insisted that he knew Lady Grosville to be a bit of an old cat; that of course there was something up, but it seemed a shame for those at least who accepted Madame d'Estrées' hospitality to believe the worst. There was a curious mixture of carelessness and delicacy in his remarks, very characteristic of the man. It appeared as though he was at once too indolent to go into the matter and too chivalrous to talk about it.

Darrell presently maintained a rather angry silence. No man likes to be checked in his story, especially when the check implies something like a snub from his best friend. Suddenly memory brought before him the little picture of Ashe and Lady Kitty together—he bending over her, in his large, handsome geniality, and she looking up. Darrell felt a twinge of jealousy—then disgust. Really men like Ashe had the world too easily their own way! That they should pose, besides,—was too much.