Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
is unaffectedly devoted to your son despite the period of anxiety through which he unavoidably compelled her to pass; your son will tell you that he is no less devoted to her.”
If only the man would have stopped talking for one moment! He sat there, smiling to himself and pouring out this stream of pretentious, shop-walker’s English. . . I’m sure you know what I mean! One so often finds with people who are not quite certain of themselves that they heap up affectations and dare not venture on a colloquialism for fear of seeming what they would call “ungenteel”. Slang I abhor, but there is such a thing as the daily speech of educated men and women. . .
“Tell me, dear Will,” I begged, “whether this is true.”
“I’ve always wanted to marry Molly,” he answered. And, though sheer fatigue had taken the tone from his voice, I heard a throb of conviction. “I didn’t see, though, how we could marry until we had something to marry on. That’s what I told her fool of a father . . . and her . . . and the guv’nor . . . and Sir Appleton. If you’d settle that between you instead of badgering me, I’ll marry her to-morrow.”
His nerves were strained to breaking-point. . .
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