Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
minutes Brackenbury rang to find out the reason for the delay. The servant came back to say that part of what I think is called the magneto was missing. I chose my word carefully: not “injured” or “worn-out,” but “missing”—as though some one had invaded the garage and removed the requisite part. . .
Brackenbury seemed to lose his head altogether.
“It’s ten o’clock,” he roared. “If you don’t get to Hugely by mid-night, can’t you see that you’ll be too late to stop a scandal? If you want to stay the divorce, say so at once, say that you’re scheming to tie up Spenworth in your own interests; and, by God, if it comes off, I’ll say it until every decent man and woman will walk out of a room when any of your gang come into it. . . Phyllida,” he shouted. “Order your car! Will can drive it. . .”
“Aren’t you afraid he may lose his way?,” asked Phyllida.
I don’t attempt to reproduce her voice. . . It was silky . . . oh, and wicked! I tell myself not to mind, I try to remember that she was overwrought and that her father was a criminal not to insist on her going away. Phyllida was deliberately charging us with a conspiracy to interrupt the divorce proceedings so that in time
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