Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
Will, now that Sir Appleton had played us so shamefully false, but I’m afraid that I was simply letting things drift. . .
Then my brother-in-law Spenworth paid me the rare honour of a visit. He had come up from Cheniston on purpose, though—to judge from his voice—you would have thought he was still trying to make himself heard from the fastnesses of Warwickshire. . .
“Well, my dear Ann,” he roared, “I’ve come to give you a piece of my mind.”
Do you know, had the retort not been so cheaply obvious, one would have been strongly tempted to ask whether he could really spare it. . . So characteristic of Spenworth! I am not a woman to bear malice, but I could not forget that very few days had passed since he played me a trick which to that type of mind, no doubt, seems funny, but which might have involved me in embarrassment and humiliation. It was one night when the princess was with me; Spenworth had been presiding over some regimental dinner and he thought it would be an amusing hoax to send all these young officers—with partners whom they had apparently picked up one really dares not contemplate where—on the pretext that I was giving a dance and would be delighted to see them. Dear Hilary Butler’s presence of mind alone saved the
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