Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
rendered theirs, he looked at them. . . Then he came to Will. . .
“I was just wondering,” I heard him say.
“Wondering what?,” asked Will.
“Who gave me minus ten for—‘Personal Charm’, wasn’t it? And nought for ‘Loyalty’, nought for ‘Honesty’, nought even for ‘Hospitality’ . . . Just wondering.”
“It’s a secret ballot,” said Will.
“Some one gave me nought for everything except ‘Personal Charm’, and there I received minus ten. . . I was wondering who it was.”
“D’you suggest I did it?,” asked Will.
“Oh, I respect the secrecy of the ballot,” answered Sir Adolf. “But I noticed that you were using an indelible-ink pencil and I was clumsy enough to spill some soda-water over some of the papers, including the only one written with an indelible-ink pencil. . . But it is all a game, is it not?”
I have never felt so uncomfortable. Sir Adolphus said nothing more; he and Lady Erskine were too sweet for the rest of the time we were at Rock Hill. But I felt—perhaps quite wrongly—that I could not place myself under an obligation to him, I could not invite a rebuff. . .
Will was in no sense of the word to blame.
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