Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
promised; not believing this story of a promise, I felt that she was trying to blackmail us; feeling that, I declined to see her. One thing followed automatically from another. It was not until she called that evening and Sir Appleton—rather officiously, if you’ll promise not to tell any one I said so—insisted on interviewing her, that I learned the truth about her condition. Then, I am sure, we should all have agreed that Will must marry her at once, but Sir Appleton would give us no time. I suppose concentration on one object is very necessary in business, but it does limit a man’s outlook: Sir Appleton could see but this one thing. “My good sir,” I wanted to tell him, “shew us how it is to be done, and it will be done.” But he would not discuss the appointment, though he had given me as solemn a promise as a man can give; he dashed home, after sending this girl on ahead, and we heard no more of them.
I felt that it was useless to talk to my boy just then, because he was so much worried that anything more might have brought on a complete break-down. My husband too. . . I respect Arthur’s judgement at other times, but, where his own son is concerned, I find him curiously unsympathetic. I pretended to myself that I was trying to find a new opening for
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