Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
He acted with great decision and literally dashed upstairs. I heard the door gently closing as Will fitted his key into the lock. . . My dear, I am too old for excitements of this kind; my heart was beating; I had no idea what to say if they asked me why a taxi was standing there unattended. Oh, and I felt sure Phyllida would say she had left her work or her book in the drawing-room. . .
It was agony! I could not persuade them to go to bed. First of all they wanted to know why I was still up, then they must needs tell me about their party, then Phyllida wanted a cigarette, then Will wanted to give her some soda-water. One false start after another. . . When at last I thought I had set them moving, Phyllida sat down again and said:
“Will dear, see if there are any letters for me, there’s an angel.”
Do you know, I was so much obsessed by the thought of that man in the drawing-room that I was blind to everything else. As my boy went into the hall, I felt that I had seen a change without noticing it, if you understand me. Will was transformed, elated . . . and there was a new gentleness about Phyllida. When he brought the letters to her, I could see that he pressed her hand; and she sighed wistfully and then smiled. Now I could understand
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