Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
all arranged to go on to Ledlow’s; so, as soon as we’d found our partners, on we came. Is it the wrong night?”
“Wrong night!,” I said. “All nights are wrong nights! My brother-in-law must have made a mistake. I am giving a little party and I invited him. . .”
And then I whispered to this boy about the princess. I must say that he behaved well. It can never be pleasant to find yourself in a house where you’re not expected and where, only too plainly, you’re not wanted. He saw my terrible position. . .
“I hope you realize it’s not our fault,” he said.
“I acquit you of everything,” I cried. “But won’t you explain to your friends and—and get them away?”
He promised to do his best, though some of the men looked anything but tractable; and I went back to the princess, hoping that the music would drown all the going and coming. “Play like mad!,” I whispered to this boy at the piano; “Noise, at all costs!” And, as if I hadn’t enough to bear, I thought he was going to take offence. Half-way through, the door opened a crack, and I saw—who do you think? Colonel Butler; Phyllida’s cabman hero. Nothing could surprise me then—the
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