possessed indeed a native and surprising interest in matter of the sort; and a manner, above all, with the old, alternately soft and daring, calculated, as Lady Grosville would no doubt have put it, merely to make fools of them. In her cousins' house, it seemed, she had talked with old people, survivors of the Orleanist and Bourbon régimes--even of the Empire; had sat at their feet, a small, excited hero-worshipper; and had then rushed blindly into the memoirs and books that concerned them. So, in this French world the child had found time for other things than hunting, and the flattery of her cousin Henri? Ashe was supposed to be devoting himself to the Dean's wife; but both he and she listened most of the time to the sallies and the laughter of the circle where Kitty presided. "My dear young lady," cried the delighted Dean, "I never find anybody who can talk of these things--it is really astonishing. Ah, _now_, we English know nothing of France--nor they of us. Why, I was a mere school-boy then, and I had a passion for their society, and their books--for their _plays_--dare I confess it?"--he lowered his voice and glanced at his hostess--"their plays, above all!" Kitty clapped her hands. The Dean looked at her, and ran on: "My mother shared it. When I came over for my Eton holidays, she and I lived at the Théâtre-Français. Ah, those were days! _I_ remember Mademoiselle Mars in 'Hernani.'" Kitty bounded in her seat. Whereupon it appeared that just before she left Paris she had been taken by a friend to see the reigning idol of the Comédie-Française, the young and astonishing actress, Sarah Bernhardt, as Doña Sol. And there began straightway an excited duet between her and the Dean; a comparison of old and new, a rivalry of heroines, a hot and critical debate that presently silenced all other conversation in the room, and brought Lord Grosville to stand gaping and astounded behind the Dean, reflecting no doubt that this was not precisely the Dean of the Diocesan Conference. The old man indeed forgot his age, the girl her youth; they met as equals, on poetic ground, till suddenly Kitty, springing up, and to prove her point, began an imitation of Sarah in the great love-scene of the last act, before arresting fate, in the person of Don Ruy, breaks in upon the rapture of the lovers. She absolutely forgot the Grosville drawing-room, the staring Grosville girls, the other faces, astonished or severe, neutral or friendly. Out rolled the tide of tragic verse, fine poetry, and high passion; and though it be not very much to say, it must at least be said that never had such recitation, in such French, been heard before within the walls of Grosville Park. Nor had the lips of any English girl ever dealt there with a poetic diction so unchastened and unashamed. Lady Grosville might well feel as though the solid frame of things were melting and cracking round her. Kitty ceased. She fell back upon her chair, smitten with a sudden perception.