Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
“What,” I said, “what have I done to deserve this?” . . .
And it was I who found Ruth for him. . .
Do you know, after that, it was on the tip of my tongue to say I could not see Spenworth? He had made such a pother about coming up from Cheniston. . . If your brother-in-law were faced with an operation and begged to have what would perhaps be his last word with you . . . and if, through no fault of yours, there had been unhappy differences in the past. . . The nurse came in to say that he had arrived, and I felt that I must make an effort, whatever it cost me. He was worse than Brackenbury! What they said to each other outside I do not profess to know; but Spenworth came in, bawling in that hunting-field voice of his. . . Ah, of course, you do not know him! I assure you, it goes through and through one’s head. . . I begged him to spare me; and, when I had quieted him, I referred very briefly to our estrangement, which, I told him, was occasioned solely by my efforts to do what in me lay to promote peace in the family. Poor Kathleen . . . betrayed and neglected; the licentiousness of life at Cheniston—eating, drinking, smoking, gambling, racing; those four unhappy girls. . . A pagan household. . .
“But,” I said, “I do not want to disinter
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