Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
has been away at the war since the beginning of 1916. . .” I won’t weary you, but I gave him a little account of my boy’s work on the staff, what were his tastes and ambitions . . . and so on and so forth. I really don’t know what this girl had begun to play, but she must have changed suddenly, for the noise became deafening. . . “I really can’t talk against that,” I protested.
Sir Adolphus went to the piano and whispered something, but the noise only increased.
“And she can’t play against your talking,” shouted Will. “That’s Elsie Creyne, in case you don’t know, and I’ll bet she doesn’t much care about people talking when she’s playing. I’ve been watching her to see what would happen.”
“Then I think, in ordinary kindness, you might have warned me,” I said. “I have no wish to hurt the young woman’s feelings.”
“I thought it might be rather a rag,” was all Will would say. “I’m rather bored with this place. I kept going at dinner because there was plenty of champagne; nbt, if somebody doesn’t do something, I shall have to brighten things up by pulling old Herr von Erckmann’s leg. He had the cheek to criticize the staff at the end of dinner; I switched the
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