Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
to time; and, perhaps on account of a curious dream which I had about them at the time of my operation, I was not at all sure that I wanted to see the intimacy increasing ; when he marries, it will have to be some one with a little money, but I do not want to lose him yet and I cannot feel that Phyllida is very suitable. . . You can imagine, therefore, whether I should be likely to scheme or contrive to throw them into each other’s arms; to intrigue to get rivals out of the way. . . I have lost the thread.
Ah, yes! Phyllida! Now, I chose my words carefully: “making my house her own,” not “staying in my charge.” When I went into the nursing-home, I tackled Brackenbury. . .
“Please understand,” I said, “that I accept no responsibility. The child goes to and from the hospital when she likes, how she likes. I know nothing of the people with whom she associates there; and, if you like the idea of her coming in at all hours from theatres and dances, I suppose it’s all right. But I can’t stop her,” I said; “I feel it my duty to tell you I can’t stop her.”
Brackenbury made some foolish rejoinder about Phyllida’s head being screwed on tight or her heart being in the right place. (In that family they express themselves so uncouthly.
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