Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
“Spenworth! I must beg for enlightenment,” I said.
“Oh, we’ll let bygones be bygones,” he answered. “The case was never brought to trial. But, as long as I’m likely to be called on to wipe up little messes of that kind, I’d sooner make a sinking-fund, to provide against emergencies, than pay Will money to get into more mischief and then have to stump up again.”
More explicit than that he declined to be. . .
“Then,” I said, “you repudiate all responsibility to your own flesh and blood? Whether I live or die, this is a request I shall never repeat.”
“Oh, we’ll see how things go,” he answered. “You may not be as bad as you think. If I find Will starving at the end of the war, I’d undertake to pay his passage to Australia and give him a hundred a year to stay there. . .”
Until you know my brother-in-law, you cannot appreciate the refinement of his humour. . .
“Let us,” I said, “discuss this no further.”
You have probably observed that a man is never content with being thoroughly ungenerous; he must always try to justify himself.
“You know,” he began, very importantly, “you wouldn’t have half so much trouble with
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