Apparently it had a thread of story--both slender and
extravagant. And on the thread--Hullo!--here was the fancy ball; he
pounced upon it. A portrait of Lady Parham--Ye powers! he chuckled as he
read. On the next page the Chancellor of the Exchequer--snub-nosed
parvenu and Puritan--admirably caught. Further on a speech of Ashe's
in the House--with caricature to right and caricature to left ... Ah! the
poet!--at last! He bent over the page till Kitty coughed and fidgeted,
and he thought it best to hurry on. But it was war, he perceived--open,
undignified, feminine war. On the next page, the Archbishop of
Canterbury--with Lady Kitty's views on the Athanasian Creed! Heavens!
what a book! Next, Royalty itself, not too respectfully handled. Then
Ashe again--Ashe glorified, Ashe explained, Ashe intrigued against, and
Ashe triumphant--everywhere the centre of the stage, and everywhere, of
course, all unknown to the author, the fool of the piece. Political
indiscretions also, of the most startling kind, as coming from the wife
of a cabinet minister. Allusions, besides, scattered broadcast, to the
scandals of the day--material as far as he could see for a dozen libel
actions.
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