Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
came to my rescue, and we contrived to exist with nothing more exciting than conversation until the men joined us. Then, I think, something must have been whispered to Sir Adolphus, for he said:
“I don’t think we’ll have any cards to-night; they’re so unsociable.”
Now, I wanted, above all things, to draw Will and Sir Adolphus together and allow them to become better acquainted. And Sir Adolphus, I knew, wished to talk to me, for he had begun to ask at dinner whether I thought it would interest Spenworth to see his pictures. I therefore suggested that, if I might express a wish, it would be for a little music. Sir Adolphus assented at once and asked one of these rather ambiguous young women to play, while I made room for him on the sofa and beckoned to Will. The Maitland boy—it was not very tactful of the Erskines—had been invited for the same week-end, but he was mooning about like a lost soul, looking at the pictures and talking to Lady Erskine. . .
“You asked me,” I began, “to contrive a meeting—”
“Won’t you wait until this is over?,” suggested Sir Adolphus, with a nod towards the piano.
“I don’t mind it,” I said. “Now, Will
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