Adeline Horsey Recollections. The intimate history of Society is full of unsuspected tragedy, but when the veil is torn aside, the unhappiness of many a husband and wife becomes tragedy in real earnest, and the light-hearted butterflies who sip the sweets of the good things of this life are horrified at the idea of such things happening in their midst. The grim story I am about to relate concerned particular friends of mine, and it made a great impression upon me. Constance de Burgh (age 22) was one of my great friends, she was a very pretty, charming girl who married Lord Ward (age 34), who had always been considered a great parti by mothers with marriageable daughters.

Constance (age 22) was not in love with her husband (age 34); he had proposed and she was told she must accept him. A dutiful daughter of rather colourless character, Constance never dreamt of opposition, and so she became Lady Ward.

Marriage frequently means disillusion, and the Ward marriage was not a success.

William Ward (age 34) was a pleasant man, but he had extraordinary ideas of how to treat a wife, ideas which could only be tolerated by a tactful woman who could laugh at them, and forget all the unpleasantness they entailed. Poor Constance was not tactful, and not accommodating. Her husband worshipped the beautiful; he had selected his wife partly on account of her beauty, and he treated her like some lovely slave he had bought. He had a strange, almost barbaric passion for precious stones, and he bought quantities of them and lavished them on his wife, who appeared at great entertainments literally ablaze with diamonds.

What pleased Lord Ward more than anything was to make Constance put on all her jewels for his special benefit when they were alone. He would admire her thus for hours, delighting in her lovely unclothed figure, and contrasting the sheen of her ropes of pearls with her delicate skin, as she sat on a black satin-covered couch.

These strange proceedings at first terrified and then disgusted Constance. She appealed to her father, but her parents decided that her husband's peculiarities came within the meaning of the marriage vows, and she was told she must submit to her husband's humours.

Fate then threw Constance (age 22) across Lord Dupplin's (age 24) path, with the result that the tragedy began.

I knew Blanche Dupplin (age 23) very well, and often when I was lunching with her she would tell me sorrowfully about her husband's (age 24) infatuation. "It is useless to expostulate", said Blanche; "Dupplin will not abandon the affair, and I don't know how it will end if William Ward (age 34) finds out his wife's (age 22) infidelity".

Matters came to a crisis at a fancy dress ball given by Lady Londonderry (age 22) at Holderness House, the chief feature being a quadrille danced by ladies representing famous European queens. I met the Wards there; Constance looked delicate, and early in the evening she said she felt ill and must go home. She came over to where her husband and I were standing, and asked him whether he intended to accompany her.

"No, I shall stay", said Lord Ward (age 34), "I mean to have several dances with Miss de Horsey. Go home by all means if you are tired".

Constance was enceinte, so her absence excited no comment as she was far from strong. Her husband remained until nearly 3 a.m., when he departed for his house in Park Lane - it was daylight, and, as he approached the house, he suddenly noticed a man leaving it. Their eyes met; it was Lord Dupplin (age 24), who turned and ran for his life down the street.

Lord Ward entered, and startled the sleepy footman by telling him to rouse the servants and bid them assemble in the hall. He then went upstairs to his wife's bedroom.

What passed between them was told by Constance to a friend; her husband came to her bedside and accused her of committing adultery with Lord Dupplin (age 24). "Get up, madame", he continued, "my house is yours no longer; arrangements shall be made for your future, but henceforth you are no wife of mine".

Tears and entreaties were useless, and Constance was obliged to dress; William Ward (age 34) then led her past the scandalised servants who were waiting downstairs, and - turned her out of doors.

The poor frightened girl managed to reach her parents' house in Grosvenor Crescent, and implored them to give her shelter, but they were as heartless as her husband, and told her they could not take her in. More dead than alive, she turned her steps to Conduit Street, where her singing-master lived, and this gentleman, full of compassion for his unfortunate pupil, allowed her to remain there until the next day, when she went to Ostend. From Ostend she went to Ems, where her child was prematurely born and the unhappy young mother died. Her husband brought her body to England, and once again Constance Ward (age 22) lay in her darkened bedroom.

On the evening of the day before her burial, Lord Colville came to see Lord Ward. They talked for some time and then the widower suddenly turned to his friend.

"Colville - you admired my wife (age 22)? "Yes", replied Lord Colville, "I did". "Well, come and look your last on her", said Lord Ward, and lighting a candle he led the way upstairs.

The room was full of shadows, and the flickering light fell on the lovely face of the dead woman. Silently Lord Colville stood by her, and his heart ached when he thought of her fate. Ward was watching him attentively. "Still admiring my wife (age 22)? Well, she was a pretty woman - but - you'd never credit she had such bad teeth". He put down the candle on a table as he spoke, and raised his wife's head from the pillow. With cold deliberation he wrenched the jaws apart. "I always told you she had bad teeth", he repeated, "look here, man". But Lord Colville had hurriedly left the room. He told me afterwards it was the most ghastly sight he had ever seen.