Page:The Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman.djvu/87

 me, when Arthur and I are dead and buried!—our boy Will might succeed. Cheniston is a noble seat; the Spenworth title is old and was once honoured; but neither for my husband nor my son do I want them—at that cost.

I said nothing. . . I believe I murmured to myself: “You wicked child”; but, literally, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t see. . . or hear. Brackenbury was making furious arrangements. As in a dream I saw Ruth being wrapped in a fur-coat. . . A car came to the door and drove away. . . I asked my boy to ascertain which was my room and to lend me the support of his arm up the stairs. ..

Ruth telegraphed next day from Rugely—just two words—“All well.”. . . Will and I returned to London by train. Phyllida was in the hall, reading the telegram, as I appeared.

“It nearly came off,” she said. “I’m sorry—for your sake—that you’ve had a disappointment. Time, you will find, works wonders; and some day, perhaps, you will be more grateful than I can expect to find you now. If I were you, I would go right away. . .” What she intended to convey I have no more idea than the man in the moon. . . The