Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
“But have you had no dinner?,” I asked, remembering our own fate.
“I don’t want any dinner till I know what’s happened to Phyllida. When did she disappear? Lord Brackenbury says she was out here one moment. . . If anything’s happened to her—”
“Calm yourself. Colonel Butler,” I enjoined.
Indeed I might as profitably have addressed the advice to myself. It was time for some one to keep his head. I was thinking only of Phyllida and the effect that another shock might have upon her. She was already so much overwrought, sobbing her heart out when any of us could have told her that there was nothing to cry about. . .
“We’ve been searching high and low,” said Colonel Butler. “Lord Brackenbury told me that she suddenly bolted into the night. We haven’t dared shout for fear of frightening her away. . . What’s it all about? In the name of God, what can have happened to her?”
“If you stay here,” I said, “I will find her for you.”
“But do you know where she is?,” he cried in great excitement. “I must come too.”
“Won’t you trust my judgement, Colonel Butler?,” I asked.
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