Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
I have never been greatly attached to Kathleen. These backboneless, emotional women. . . But I felt that somebody must do something for her. She came to Mount Street, and I reasoned with her again; at Cheniston I may be less than the dust, but under my own vine and fig-tree. . . In London I have a certain niche and I was bound to warn her that a divorced woman is mal vue in certain circles and among certain persons who sometimes do me the honour to dine at my house. There would be occasions on which I should be unable to invite her. You would have said that she didn’t care. . . She was staying with us when the case was tried; she stayed all through the summer, four months. No, you mustn’t give me credit to which I’m not entitled. I felt very little sympathy when she proved obdurate; but, if one could do anything to brighten her lot. . . I gave one or two little parties. . . Trying to take her out of herself. To some extent I succeeded. Kathleen has still the remains of good looks, though that fair fluffiness is not a type that I admire. When I refused to let her sit and mope in her room, she made an effort and assumed quite an attractive appearance. Several men were impressed. . .
There was one in particular. I won’t give you his name. . . And yet I don’t know why
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