The slight disrespect of his smile annoyed his companion, but the day was hot and she had no repartee ready. She only murmured as she threw away her cigarette: "Kitty is much disappointed in the village." "They are greater brutes than she thought?" "Quite the contrary. There are no poachers--and no murders. The girls prefer to be married, and the Tranmores give so much away that no one has the smallest excuse for starvation. Kitty gets nothing out of them whatever." "In the way of literary material?" Mrs. Alcot nodded. "Last week she was so discouraged that she was inclined to give up fiction and take to journalism." "Heavens! Political?" "Oh, _la haute politique_, of course." "H'm. The wives of cabinet ministers have often inspired articles. I don't remember an instance of their writing them." "Well, Kitty is inclined to try." "With Ashe's sanction?" "Goodness, no! But Kitty, as you are aware"--Mrs. Alcot threw a prudent glance to right and left--"goes her own way. She believes she can be of great service to her husband's policy." Darrell's lip twitched. "If you were in Ashe's position, would you rather your wife neglected or supported your political interests?" Mrs. Alcot shrugged her shoulders. "Kitty made a considerable mess of them last year." "No doubt. She forgot they existed. But I think if I were Ashe, I should be more afraid of her remembering. By-the-way--the glass here seems to be at 'Set Fair'?" His interrogative smile was not wholly good-natured. But mere benevolence was not what the world asked of Philip Darrell--even in the case of his old friends. "Astonishing!" said Mrs. Alcot, with lifted brows. "Kitty is immensely proud of him--and immensely ambitious. That, of course, accounts for Lord Parham's visit." "Lord Parham!" cried Darrell, bounding on his seat. "Lord Parham!--coming here?" "He arrives to-morrow. On his way from Scotland--to Windsor." Mrs. Alcot enjoyed the effect of her communication on her companion. He sat open-mouthed, evidently startled out of all self-command. "Why, I thought that Lady Kitty--" "Had vowed vengeance? So, in a sense, she has. It is understood that she and Lady Parham don't meet, except--" "On formal occasions, and to take in the groundlings," said Darrell, too impatient to let her finish her sentence. "Yes, that I gathered. But you mean that _Lord_ Parham is to be allowed to make his peace?" Madeleine Alcot lay back and laughed. "Kitty wishes to try her hand at managing him." Darrell joined her in mirth. The notion of the white-haired, bullet-headed, shrewd, and masterful man who at that moment held the Premiership of England managed by Kitty, or any other daughter of Eve--always excepting his wife--must needs strike those who had the slightest acquaintance with Lord Parham as a delicious absurdity. Suddenly Darrell checked himself, and bent forward. "Where--if I may ask--is the poet?" "Geoffrey? Somewhere in the Balkans, isn't he?--making a revolution."