Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
time he does me the honour to call; but I saw Sir Appleton jerk his head towards the table and, to my horror, I beheld an enormous crop made, I should think, of rhinoceros-hide.
“I regret to inform you that it may not be necessary,” said Sir Appleton. “When I told our young friend to prepare for execution, he asked naturally enough why he was being executed and quite convinced me that it would be absurd to carry out the sentence when his one burning desire and ambition was to marry Miss Phenton.”
Sheer, unabashed intimidation!
I looked at Will; but he was sitting with his head between his hands, utterly worn out with the worry of the past few weeks.
“Is this true?,” I asked.
“He will tell you,” said Sir Appleton, taking care to give him no chance of speaking for himself, “that he always intended to marry her; he now clearly remembers promising to marry her, which is so satisfactory. It was only a question of times and seasons and ways and means. I admit it is not a solution which I consider ideal, because I—like you, though from another standpoint—do not regard it as a wholly suitable match. A first love, however, is not an easy thing to overcome, and Miss Phenton
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