Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
. . I am not ashamed to confess it. A radiance that you see before young people have time to become hard, worldly. . .
They announced it next day to Brackenbury, though I am sure Hilda was imprudent to travel. Though I could not fairly be saddled with any responsibility, I was a little nervous to see how he would take it; every family has its scapegoat, and at the Hall they have so long found it convenient to dignify me with that position. . .
“Were you surprised?,” I asked.
“Well, yes,” Brackenbury admitted. “It was commonly reported that you were keeping Hilda up your sleeve for Will. People told me that it was impossible to walk into a restaurant or theatre without meeting them. You won’t deny that you did rather throw them at each other’s heads?”
“Brackenbury,” I said. “If any one thought it worth while to call me a homicidal maniac, I doubt if I should bother to deny it. . . But are you pleased?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “They seem quite happy; and that’s all that matters.”
And I preferred to leave it at that. It is not a great match. Ruth, of course, is delighted, because it supports her own conduct in marrying Brackenbury. . . .
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