Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
“But I do think,” I resumed, “that you should keep an eye on her. . .”
Perhaps there was never anything in it; but one young man whom Phyllida brought to Mount Street, a Colonel Butler, one of her own patients. . . Oh, quite a presentable, manly young fellow, but hopelessly unsuitable for Phyllida! My boy Will first put me on my guard when he was last home on leave; not that he had any personal interest, for all her four thousand a year or whatever it is, but they have always been brought up like brother and sister. . . My last act before coming here was to make Colonel Butler promise not to see or communicate with Phyllida until he had spoken frankly to Brackenbury. I understand that he has been invited to the Hall “on approval”, as Will would say; and then we shall see what we shall see. I fancy he will have the good sense to recognize that such an alliance would be out of the question: every one would say that he had married her for her money, and no man of any pride would tolerate that. . . Phyllida, robbed of her stolen joys, was of course furious with me for what she was courteous enough to call my “interference.” . .
“Her head is screwed on quite tight,” said Brackenbury, ”though I have no idea what you’re insinuating.”
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