Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
It was quite evident to me now that Will did not intend to marry her. He was furious when I even hinted at such a thing. . . And I will tell you that I was glad. She would not have made a suitable wife, and no amount of money will overcome those little hardly perceptible angularities of breeding which make the difference between a happy and an unhappy marriage. While there was any possibility of such a thing, I had to hold my peace. . .
That night I improvized quite a big party for her. Will was not able to be present, as he had a long-standing engagement to dine with a man at his club. We had encroached on his time so much that for the first week of the new régime I hardly saw him; he was simply making up arrears with his other friends. I was lucky enough to get hold of Culroyd, however; and, though he was hardly a substitute for Will—I hate to say this about my own nephew, but I always feel that my poor sister-in-law Ruth imported a bucolic strain into the blood—, he did his best and made quite an impression on Hilda. . .
Indeed, I think you may say that it all started from that night. . . I never imagined that Culroyd would fall a victim. Hilda is undeniably pretty and, of course, she is an heiress; but, beyond that, she brings nothing.
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