London (England) -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Politicians -- Fiction
And at the remembrance of his little son, a wave of sore yearning filled
his own heart. Deep under the occupations and interests of the mind lay
this passionate regret, and at any moment of pause or silence its
"buried life" arose and seized him. But he was a busy politician,
absorbed even in these days of holiday by the questions and problems of
the hour. And Kitty was a delicate woman--with no defence against the
torture of grief.
He thought of those first days after the child's death, when in spite of
the urgency of the doctors it had been impossible to keep the news from
Kitty; of the ghastly effect of it upon nerves and brain already
imperilled by causes only half intelligible; of those sudden flights
from her nurses, when the days of convalescence began, to the child's
room, and, later, to his grave. There was stinging pain in these
recollections. Nor was he, in truth, much reassured by his wife's more
recent state. It was impossible, indeed, that he should give it the same
constant thought as a woman might--or a man of another and more
emotional type. At this moment, perhaps, he had literally no _time_ for
the subtleties of introspective feeling, even had his temperament
inclined him to them, which was, in truth, not the case. He knew that
Kitty had suddenly and resolutely ceased to talk about the boy, had
thrown herself with the old energy into new pursuits, and, since she
came to Venice in particular, had shown a feverish desire to fill every
hour with movement and sight-seeing.
But was she, in truth, much better--in body or soul?--poor child! The
doctors had explained her illness as nervous collapse, pointing back to
a long preceding period of overstrain and excitement. There had been
suspicions of tubercular mischief, but no precise test was then at
command; and as Kitty had improved with rest and feeding the idea had
been abandoned. But Ashe was still haunted by it, though quite
ready--being a natural optimist--to escape from it, and all other
incurable anxieties, as soon as Kitty herself should give the signal.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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