Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
would have felt that his soul might be required of him at any hour. . . A sense of gratitude, if not verbal thanks, was what I expected. . .
Hoped for, rather than expected. . . You are quite right.
And I have tried to keep the peace on the other side, at Brackenbury. There, I am thankful to say, there is the appearance of harmony ; but, goodness me, there is an appearance of harmony when you see pigs eating amicably out of the same trough. . . No, I ought not to have said that! And I would not say it to any one else; but, when I remember the distinction of the Hall in the old, spacious days. . . My poor sister-in-law Ruth—well, she knew no better; and Brackenbury, instead of absorbing her, has allowed her to absorb him. They seem to have no sense of their position; and in the upbringing of their children they either don’t know or they don’t care. When this war broke out, Culroyd ran away from Eton and enlisted. He is in the Coldstream now, and I expect the whole thing is forgotten, but Brackenbury had the utmost difficulty in getting him out. And my niece Phyllida instantly set herself to learn nursing—which, of course, in itself is altogether praiseworthy—, but she makes it an excuse for now living entirely unchecked and uncontrolled in London—the
7
