He was sitting in front of his writing-table staring at the floor, his hands hanging before him, when the door opened and shut. He turned. There, with her back to the door, stood Kitty. Her aspect startled him to his feet. She looked at him, trembling--her little face haggard and white, with a touch of something in it which had blurred its youth. "William!" She put both her hands to her breast, as though to support herself. Then she flew forward. "William! I have done nothing wrong--nothing--nothing! William--look at me!" He sternly put out his hand, protecting himself. "Where have you been?" he said, in a low voice--"and with whom?" Kitty fell into a chair and burst into wild tears. XIII There was silence for a few moments except for Kitty's crying. Ashe still stood beside his writing-table, his hand resting upon it, his eyes on Kitty. Once or twice he began to speak, and stopped. At last he said, with obvious difficulty: "It's cruel to keep me waiting, Kitty." "I sent you a telegram first thing this morning." The voice was choked and passionate. "I never got it." "Horrid little fiend!" cried Kitty, sitting up and dashing back her hair from her tear-stained cheeks. "I gave a boy half a crown this morning to be at the station with it by eight o'clock. And I couldn't possibly either write or telegraph last night--it was too late." "Where were you?" said Ashe, slowly. "I went to the Alcots' this morning, and--" "--the butler told you Madeleine was in bed? So she is. She was ill yesterday morning. There was no coach and no party. I went with Geoffrey." Kitty held herself erect; her eyes, from which the tears were involuntarily dropping, were fixed on her husband. "Of course I guessed that," said Ashe. "It was Geoffrey brought me the news--here, just as I was starting to go to the Alcots'. Then he said he had something to read me--and it would be delicious to go to Pangbourne--spend the day on the river--and come back from Windsor--at night--by train. And I had a horrid headache--and it was so hot--and you were at the office"--her lip quivered--"and I wanted to hear Geoffrey's poems--and so--" She interrupted herself, and once more broke down--hiding her face against the chair. But the next moment she felt herself roughly drawn forward, as Ashe knelt beside her. "Kitty!--look at me! That man behaved to you like a villain?" She looked up--she saw the handsome, good-humored face transformed--and wrenched herself away. "He did," she said, bitterly--"like a villain." She began to twist and torment her handkerchief as Ashe had seen her do once before, the small white teeth pressed upon the lower lip--then suddenly she turned upon him-- "I suppose you want me to tell you the story?" All Kitty in the words! Her frankness, her daring, and the impatient, realistic tone she was apt to impose upon emotion--they were all there. Ashe rose and began to walk up and down.