Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
Arthur said at once that he would do what- ever I wanted. . .
You do not often hear me talking of “position” or “dignity” or “rights”, but I did indeed feel that any poor little niche we might occupy was threatened. Spenworth’s own record is so infamous that people would feel it was only natural for his brother to tread the same path. I am not ashamed to confess that I do feel what people say about me. Some people. . . And it was these people, the people who mattered, that I wanted to convince; if there was indeed no rift between Arthur and me, why should we allow the gossips to pretend there was? . . .
I decided to signalize our return to England by a little party—just a few friends to dinner, a little music, a few more friends coming in if they had nothing better to do. I have never found it necessary to inform the world—as your Mrs. Tom Noddys do—that they have left Gloucester Place for Eastbourne or Eastbourne for Gloucester Place. Goodness me, “Who wonders—and who cares?,” as they say. But I was not sorry to find that our little party was being discussed; and, of course, when once the princess’s name was mentioned, the papers came at me with open arms. . . I left no stone unturned to make a success of the little gather-
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