It
was not at all the custom for young ladies to breakfast in bed on
Sundays at Grosville Park, and Lady Grosville's brow was clouded. Ashe
felt it a positive effort to tell her that he was not going to church,
and when she had marshalled her flock and carried them off, those left
behind knew themselves, indeed, as heathens and publicans.
Ashe wandered out with some official papers and a pipe into the spring
sunshine. Mr. Kershaw, the editor, would gladly have caught him for a
political talk. But Ashe would not be caught. As to the interests of
England in the Persian Gulf, both they and Mr. Kershaw might for the
moment go hang. Would Lady Kitty meet him in the old garden at
eleven-thirty, or would she not? That was the only thing that mattered.
However, it was still more than an hour to the time mentioned. Ashe
spent a while in roaming a wood delicately pied with primroses and
anemones, and then sauntered back into the gardens, which were old and
famous.
Suddenly, as he came upon a terrace bordered by a thick yew hedge, and
descending by steps to a lower terrace, he became aware of voices in a
strange tone and key--not loud, but, as it were, intensified far beyond
the note of ordinary talk.
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