Page:The Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman.djvu/153

 that they were Mrs. Sawyer’s friends. Hoity-toity! Friends with a capital “F”. . . Very soon it was “Consuelo’s” friends. Looking back on it all, one seems to hear a series of commands: “on the word ‘loot’, quick march; on reaching South Audley Street, halt and enter; on the word ‘love’. . .” and so forth and so on. No, it’s not mine; Will drew a most amusing picture. . . But that is literally what happened: first of all, they were “Consuelo’s” friends, then they were all in love with her.

I have suggested that men of that stamp are incapable of being serious about anything—except the next meal; but any one who was genuinely fond of the poor woman could not help seeing that this formal persecution was more than a joke. Will came to me after one of her parties and said that it was high time for us to do something. “Get her away from all that gang,” he cried; and from the agitation of his voice I could see that he was taking this to heart.

And, you know, it was rather dreadful to see that lovely creature with the tragic eyes standing like a bewildered child with all these young-old men baying round her. . . “It’s easier said than done,” I told him.

“Uncle Tom Brackenbury’s going north