e
shock of that incident on the river--of his night of restlessness, his
morning of agonized alarm, and the story to which he listened on her
return? It had been like some physical blow or wound, easily healed or
conquered for the moment, which then, as time goes on, reveals a hidden
series of consequences.

Consequences, in this case, connected above all with Kitty's own nature
and temperament. The excitement of Cliffe's declaration, of her own
resistance and dramatic position, as between her husband and her lover,
had worked ever since, as a poison in Kitty's mind--Ashe was becoming
dismally certain of it. The absurd incident of the night before with the
photograph had been enough to prove it.

Well, the thing, he supposed, would right itself in time. Meanwhile,
Cliffe had been dismissed, and this foolish young fellow Eddie Helston
must soon follow him. Ashe had viewed the affair so far with an amused
tolerance; if Kitty liked to flirt with babes it was her affair, not
his. But he perceived that his mother was once more becoming restless,
under the general <i>inconvenance</i> of it; and he had noticed distress and
disapproval in the little Dean, Kitty's stanchest friend.

Luckily, no difficulty there! The lad was almost as devoted to
him--Ashe--as he was to Kitty. He was absurd, affected, vain; but there
was no vice in him, and a word of remonstrance would probably reduce him
to abject regret and self-reproach. Ashe intended that his mother should
speak it, and as he made up his mind to ask her help, he felt for the
second time the sharp humiliation of the husband who cannot secure his
own domestic peace, but must depend on the aid of others. Yet how could
he himself go to young Helston? Some men no doubt could have handled
such an incident with dignity. Ashe, with his critical sense for ever
playing on himself and others; with the touch of moral shirking that
belonged to his inmost nature; and, above all, with his half-humorous,
half-bitter consciousness that whoever else might be a hero, he was
none: Ashe, at least, could and would do nothing of the sort. That he
should begin now to play the tyrannous or jealous husband would make him
ridiculous both in his own eyes and other people's.

And yet Kitty must somehow be protected from herself!... Then--as to
politics? Once, in talking with his mother, he had said to her that he
was Kitty's husband first, and a public man afterwards. Was he prepared
now to make the s