Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
I took Arthur completely into my confidence. . .
Will. . .
I had great difficulty in deciding on the right method of approach with Will. State the bald fact that the girl was coming—irrevocably and without appeal; Will might have taken a dislike to her and made my already difficult task harder. Make any mystery about it, and she might have become the fruit of the one forbidden tree, as it were, a sort of morbid craving. And that was the last thing I wanted. . . In the end I told him frankly: she was young, pretty and the only child of very rich parents who wanted to launch her on “the great world”, as the literary people call it. . .
“And I expect you to help me,” I told Will. “I don’t know the young men of the present day.”
“I must have a look at her before I wish her on to any of my friends,” said Will, not very encouragingly.
You know, there are some people who feel they owe themselves a grumble. . . As soon as Hilda arrived. Will behaved charmingly. You have seen her about in London, I expect? Oh, well, she is really pretty: small, exquisitely finished, with that “look-you-straight-in-the-eyes” air which so many girls seem to have
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