At the same time, something must be done.  It could not be denied that Kitty had been behaving like a romantic, excitable child with this unscrupulous man, whose record with regard to women was probably wholly unknown to her, however foolishly she might idealize the liaison commemorated in his poems.  What had Kitty, indeed, been doing with herself this six weeks?  Ashe tried to recall them in detail.  Ascot, Lord’s, innumerable parties in London and in the country, to some of which he had not been able to accompany her, owing to the stress of Parliamentary and official work.  Grosville Park, for instance—­he had been stopped at the last moment from going down there by the arrival of some important foreign news, and Kitty had gone alone.  She had reappeared on the Monday, pale and furious, saying that she and her aunt had quarrelled, and that she would never go near the Grosvilles either in town or country again.  She had not volunteered any further explanation, and Ashe had refrained from inquiry.  There were in him certain disgusts and disdains, belonging to his general epicurean conception of existence, which not even his love for Kitty could overcome.  One was a disdain for the quarrels of women.  He supposed they were inevitable; he saw, by-the-way, that Kitty and Lady Parham were once more at daggers drawn; and Kitty seemed to enjoy it.  Well, it was her own affair; but while there was a Greek play, or a Shakespeare sonnet, or even a Blue Book to read, who could expect him to listen?

What had old Lady Grosville been about?  He understood that Cliffe had been of the party.  And Kitty must have done something to bring down upon her the wrath of the Puritanical mistress of the house.

Well, what was he to do?  It was now July.  The session would last certainly till the middle of August, and though the American business would be disposed of directly, there was fresh trouble in the Balkan Peninsula, and an anxious situation in Egypt.  Impossible that he should think of leaving his post.  And as for the chance of a dissolution, the government was now a good deal stronger than it had been before Easter—­worse luck!

Of course he ought to take Kitty away.  But short of resignation how was it to be done?  And what, even, would resignation do—­supposing, per impossibile, it could be thought of—­but give to gnawing gossip a bigger bone, and probably irritate Kitty to the point of rebellion?  Yet how induce her to go with any one else?  Lady Tranmore was out of the question.  Margaret French, perhaps?

Then, suddenly, Ashe was assailed by an inner laughter, hollow and discomfortable.  Things were come to a pretty pass when he must even dream of resigning because a man whom he despised would haunt his house, and absorb the company of his wife; when, moreover, he could not even think of a remedy for such a state of things without falling back dismayed from the certainty of Kitty’s temper—­Kitty’s wild and furious temper.