The Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman. Stephen McKenna

he wasn’t the only man in the world, but nothing that I could say was right …

      “I think he behaved very properly,” I said. “He did me the honour to ask my advice; and, if I see him again, I shall tell him so.”

      Then the flood-gates were opened. I—tell—you—as I tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t let me speak—that I gave no advice; I wanted him to proceed with caution, but I never even told him to wait and think … He did it entirely on his own initiative. What he quite rightly saw was that he could not take advantage of a young girl’s infatuation to marry her for her money. Phyllida really shocked me with the things she said, but I’m old enough to have learnt patience; it will not be very long before she begs my pardon and admits that perhaps a certain measure of wisdom may be conceded to age … In the meantime I prefer not to mix myself up in the broils and wrangles that seem a daily feature of life at the Hall. One makes a certain effort; and, after that, one has to leave people, in the homely old phrase, to stew in their own juice … I need hardly tell you that Brackenbury took her side. And poor Ruth, though I’ve learnt not to expect too much of Ruth after all these years. If, for ​curiosity’s sake, you ask them what I am supposed to have done, I should be deeply interested to know what they say. I have nothing but praise for the young man. When you are in the army, one private is as good as another; in hospital, you are a name, a bed, a case. That is so fine, I always think; it makes this truly a people’s war. Colonel Butler would have gone to the Hall sooner or later without any prompting from me; and, once there, it was impossible for a man of any intelligence to pretend that there were no differences … It is so hard for me to put it into words without seeming a snob, but you understand what I mean …

      You will find my boy Will there. He never seems to come home without picking up a cold, and the doctor has very sensibly recommended that he should be given an extension of leave. I was not very much set on his going, I admit. Goodness me, any silly little ill-bred things that Phyllida may pick up from her poor mother are forgotten as soon as they are said; I have no need to stand on my dignity. The sins of the fathers … Brackenbury never checks her … But you know what a girl is when she has had a disappointment, we must both of us have seen it a dozen times … some sort of natural recoil. If she throws herself at Will’s head … With her money they’d have enough to live on, of ​course, and young people ought to be very comfortable on four thousand a year. (It will be seven, when the parents die.) One need not look ahead to a family; but the grandfather, Ruth’s father, would not be illiberal. But, though dear Will must marry some day, I dread the time when I must lose him …