Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
romance! In that atmosphere of radiance one forgot one’s troubles. . .
My brother Brackenbury did indeed lend me the house for a few weeks in the summer—when every one was away in Scotland— but otherwise I have not passed a night there on their invitation since that deplorable week-end when all the trouble with Phyllida began. You have forgotten it! I hope now that every one will forget it. Hilary—Colonel Butler, you know—had fallen in love with my niece while he was in her hospital. As Phyllida was living with me at the time, I had a duty to my brother, so I suggested that this boy should be invited to the Hall “on approval”, as Will would say. I yield to no one in my real affection for dear Hilary, but—why disguise it?—he had been brought up simply—on modest means—, and it was only right that he should see Phyllida in her natural frame and decide for himself whether he could support her and live up to it. Most people so notoriously cannot: my sister-in-law Ruth, who remains and will ever remain the purse-proud shipping magnate’s daughter. . . I was more than justified. Hilary consulted me; and, though I will never take the responsibility of advising young people in love, he was grateful for the detachment of an outsider. I, he could see, had no axe to grind. . . Brackenbury and
254
