Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
me to sit down? Walking upstairs makes me out of breath, and I want to have a little talk with you. I have only just heard of this; and I want to know what is to be done. You will find me a reasonable woman, I hope, and perhaps I know too much of the world to judge hastily or reproach easily. Won’t you tell me everything, so that we may understand better how we are situated?”
Do you know, because I remained dispassionate, I felt in a moment that I was holding my own and in another moment that I was gaining ground. I who had walked upstairs wondering whether my knees would give way under me. . . It was Mrs. Templedown who was embarrassed. . . And I had not sought to make myself a ruler or a judge. . .
I will not weary you with the story. Arthur had met her—in the train from Birmingham! Is there not dignity and distinction in that? He had asked her to dine with him on reaching London, they had met three or four times, Arthur had begun giving her little presents. How much one can ever believe of such a woman’s story I do not profess to judge. She vowed that their relations were innocent, that her husband’s death had left her heart-broken and that she was simply and sincerely grateful to any man who shewed her a little kindness;
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