Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
love her, I couldn’t bear to have people even hinting such a thing. You told me that she had four thousand of her own; when I can go to her father and say that I’m making more than that—clear profit to my own pocket—, I shan’t be afraid to look any one in the face. But I’ve not asked her to wait for me; and, if in the meantime she meets any one that she wants to marry more, no one will ever hear me complain.”
And then he buttoned himself into his coat—even now I couldn’t quite get over the disc with the number on it, hanging from a button-hole—, picked up his cap and held out his hand.
I walked to the door,—and then my heart seemed to stop. You may remember that the horn of our car has a note which I at least find unmistakable. I heard it in the distance, I heard it coming nearer. Phyllida and Will! It was only twelve, and I had not expected them for hours. Evidently the dance had not been to their liking. I prayed that I might prove equal to the crisis. . .
“Colonel Butler!,” I cried. (One never troubled to think whether he should rightly be given his military rank). “Shut that door! Run upstairs to the drawing-room! Hide there till I fetch you, but on no account turn on the light! My niece is coming now; if you want to avoid her. . .”
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