“I say, old fellow—­don’t—­don’t be a damned fool!”

An ashen white overspread the countenance of the man thus addressed.  His lips twitched.  He walked on in silence.  Ashe looked at him—­stammered: 

“Why, my dear Philip, it would be the extinguishing of you!”

Darrell said nothing.  Ashe, still holding his friend captive, descanted hurriedly on the disadvantages of the post “for a man of your gifts,” then—­more cautiously—­on its special requirements, not one of which did Darrell possess—­hinted at the men applying for it, at the scientific and professional influences then playing upon himself, at his strong sense of responsibility—­“Too bad, isn’t it, that a duffer like me should have to decide these things”—­and so on.

In vain.  Darrell laughed, recovered himself, changed the subject; but as they walked quickly back to the house, Ashe knew, perchance, that he had lost a friend; and Darrell’s smarting soul had scored another reckoning against a day to come.

* * * * *

As they neared the house they found a large group still lingering on the lawn, and Kitty just emerging from a garden door.  She came out accompanied by the handsome Cambridge lad who had been her partner at Lady Crashaw’s dance.  He was evidently absorbed in her society, and they approached in high spirits, laughing and teasing each other.

“Well, Kitty, how’s the bruised one?” said Ashe, as he sank into a chair beside Mrs. Alcot.

“Doing finely,” said Kitty.  “I shall send him home to-night.”

“Meanwhile, have you put him up in my dressing-room?  I only ask for information.”

“There wasn’t another corner,” said Kitty.

“There!” Ashe appealed to gods and men.  “How do you expect me to dress for dinner?”

“Oh, now, William, don’t be tiresome!” said Kitty, impatiently.  “He was bruised black and blue”—­("Serve him right for getting in the way,” grumbled Lord Grosville)—­“and nurse and I have done him up in arnica.”

She came to stand by Ashe, talking in an undertone and as fast as possible.  The little Dean, who never could help watching her, thought her more beautiful—­and wilder—­than ever.  Her eyes—­it was hardly enough to say they shone—­they glittered—­in her delicate face; her gestures were more extravagant than he remembered them; her movements restlessness itself.

Ashe listened with patience—­then said: 

“I can’t help it, Kitty—­you really must have him removed.”

“Impossible!” she said, her cheek flaming.

“I’ll go and talk to Wilson; he’ll manage it,” said Ashe, getting up.

Kitty pursued him, arguing incessantly.

He lounged along, turning every now and then to look at her, smiling and demurring, his hat on the back of his head.

“You see the difference,” said Mrs. Alcot, in Darrell’s ear.  “Last year Kitty would have got her way.  This year she won’t.”