"Yes," she said, with stubbornness, "I must. Do you know why I was such a wild-cat at school? Because some of the other girls were more important than I--much more important--and richer--and more beautiful--and people paid them more attention. And that seemed to _burn_ the heart in me." She pressed her hands to her breast with a passionate gesture. "You know the French word _panache_? Well, that's what I care for --that's what I _adore_! To be the first--the best--the most distinguished. To be envied--and pointed at--obeyed when I lift my finger--and then to come to some great, glorious, tragic end!" Ashe moved impatiently. "Lady Kitty, I don't like to hear you talk like this. It's wild, and it's also--I beg your pardon--" "In bad taste?" she said, catching him up breathlessly. "That's what you meant, isn't it? You said it to me before, when I called you handsome." "Pshaw!" he said, in vexation. She watched him throw himself back and feel for his cigarette-case; a gesture of her hand gave him leave; she waited, smiling, till he had taken a few calming whiffs. Then she gently moved towards him. "Don't be angry with me!" she said, in a sweet, low voice. "Don't you understand how hard it is--to have that nature--and then to come here out of the convent--where one had lived on dreams--and find one's self--" She turned her head away. Ashe put down his new-lit cigarette. "Find yourself?" he repeated. "Everybody scorns me!" she said, her brow drooping. Ashe exclaimed. "You know it's true. My mother is not received. Can you deny that?" "She has many friends," said Ashe. "She is _not received_. When I speak of her no one answers me. Lady Grosville asked me here--_me_--out of charity. It would be thought a disgrace to marry me--" "Look here, Lady Kitty!--" "And I"--she wrung her small hands, as though she clasped the necks of her enemies--"I would never _look_ at a man who did not think it the glory of his life to win me. So you see, I shall never marry. But then the dreadful thing is--" She let him see a white, stormy face. "That I have no loyalty to maman--I--I don't think I even love her." Ashe surveyed her gravely. "You don't mean that," he said. "I think I do," she persisted. "I had a horrid childhood. I won't tell tales; but, you see, I don't _know_ maman. I know the Soeurs much better. And then for some one you don't know--to have to--to have to bear--this horrible thing--" She buried her face in her hands. Ashe looked at her in perplexity. "You sha'n't bear anything horrible," he said, with energy. "There are plenty of people who will take care of that. Do you mind telling me--have there been special difficulties just lately?" "Oh yes," she said, calmly, looking up, "awful! Maman's debts are--well--ridiculous. For that alone I don't think she'll be able to stay in London--apart from--Alice."