Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
to lapse, like everything else; and you now have to come by the four-twenty or not at all.
I should have thought the Brackenbury parties were difficult enough without giving everybody a gratuitous two hours in the train to grow tired of everybody else. My sister-in-law Ruth has other qualities, no doubt, but she will not go down to history as one of the great English hostesses. . . It’s not surprising, perhaps; but, if you’re not born to that sort of thing, wouldn’t you make an effort to acquire it? There must be brains of some kind in the family, or the father could never have made all that money. I always felt a certain responsibility about Ruth; Brackenbury had to marry some one with a little money, and, knowing the sort of girl he’d fancy if I gave him half a chance. . . I was fourteen years older and knew something of poor Brackenbury’s limitations; when I met Ruth Philpot and found that the money did come from quite a respectable shipping firm in Hull, I said: “Marry her, my dear boy, before you have a chance of making a greater fool of yourself.” And I told him I’d do what I could for her; little hints, you understand. . . I’m afraid poor Ruth was not a very apt pupil; and Brackenbury, who never had any sense of his position, was a mere broken
27
