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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Certainly not she has had ample time," said Lady Grosville, and rang the bell beside her. Suddenly there was a whirlwind of noise in the hall, the angry barking of a small dog, the sound of a girl's voice laughing and scolding, the swish of silk skirts. A scandalized butler, obeying Lady Grosville's summons, threw the door open, and in burst Lady Kitty. "Oh!
"No, I don't know them," said Ashe. Lord Grosville's face expressed surprise. "Well, this finished it," he said. "Poor child!" said Ashe, slowly, putting down his cigarette and turning a thoughtful look on the carpet. "Alice?" said Lord Grosville. "No." "Oh! you mean Kitty? Yes, I had forgotten her for the moment. Yes, poor child."
At luncheon the Sunday luncheon which still, at Grosville Park, as in the early Victorian days of Lord Grosville's mother, consisted of a huge baronial sirloin to which all else upon the varied table appeared as appurtenance and appendage, Ashe allowed himself the inward reflection that the Grosville Park Sundays were degenerating.
The stream of guests followed; when suddenly the puppy, perceiving on the floor a ball of wool which had rolled out of Lady Grosville's work-table, escaped in an ecstasy of mischief from his mistress's arm and flew upon the ball.
Accepted sympathetically, they need not mar our infinite content. There is a wonderful sentence in Mrs. Humphry Ward's "Marriage of William Ashe," which subtly and strongly protests against the blight of mental isolation. Lady Kitty Bristol is reciting Corneille in Lady Grosville's drawing-room. "Her audience," says Mrs.
He had tired even of Lord Grosville's chat, and had left the smoking-room still talking. Indeed, he wished to be alone, and there was that in his veins which told him that a new motive had taken possession of his life.
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