Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
He hesitated for a moment and then said:
“Of course I will. You’ve been a jolly good friend to me. But for pity’s sake go at once; I can’t stand much more.”
“If you know where the others are,” I suggested, “you might employ your time in finding them.”
Then I set off down the drive once more. I walked on the grass, but, on reaching the laurel-clump, I gave a little cough to apprise them of my presence. Poor Phyllida was so much overwrought that she started to her feet like a frightened animal. (She had been lying with her face in her arms, while Will stroked her hair and whispered such little words of comfort as came into his head.)
“Will, I want to speak to you a moment,” I said.
And, when he came to me, I told him to go down to the lodge gates and wait there till I fetched him. Then I tried to make some impression on poor Phyllida, who was indulging in such an abandonment of grief that you would really say that she was enjoying it.
“Phyllida, stop crying,” I said, “and listen to what I have to tell you.”
“Oh, why can’t you leave me alone?,” she sobbed.
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