Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
am told that certain women, probably known to both of us, earn a livelihood by collecting gossip at one’s dinner-table and selling it at so much a scandal to these wretched papers. One is quite defenceless. . . I noticed for myself—and others were indefatigable in shewing me—little snippets saying that Lady Spenworth and Captain Laughton had been seen at this or that garish new restaurant. I believe that Kathleen’s solicitors wrote to her a second time. . .
A man at such a season does occasionally contrive to keep his head, but Captain Laughton was no less blind and uncontrolled than Kathleen. Will and I had arranged to go away for a few days’ motoring at the end of the summer. A car and unlimited petrol—for the first time since the war—; Sussex; the New Forest; perhaps a day in Dorset to take luncheon with the Spokeleighs; Wiltshire, Gloucestershire and up into Hereford. Delightful. . . We had planned it months ahead—before this unhappy divorce. The problem of Kathleen called for solution ; we could not conveniently take her in the car, and, if I left her in Mount Street, I did want to be assured that there would be no unpleasantness. . .
“Captain Laughton,” I said one night, when he had telephoned to know whether he might dine. It was on the tip of my tongue
66
