Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
“Exactly,” Sir Appleton cried in triumph. “Now, young man, what do you propose to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Will.
“Then suppose you find out,” said Sir Appleton. “Are you going to marry her?”
“No, no!,” I cried. “A thousand times, no! She must reap what she has sown. My son shall not pay the price of her wickedness.”
“He promised to marry her,” said Sir Appleton.
“Prove it,” I said.
Oh, if only I had been allowed to see the mad old father and challenge him! We should have heard very little more of Miss Molly Wanton. Sir Appleton didn’t seem to care whether he could prove it or not. . .
“Oh,” he had to admit, “there’s no proof. But she says so, and I believe her. Most of my life. Lady Ann, I’ve had to form quick judgements of people and, perhaps three times out of seven, I know when they’re speaking the truth. Your son did promise.”
“He did not!,” I retorted. “It stands to reason. . .”
And then I tried to hammer a little sense into his head. Two people drawn from different worlds, without an interest in common, without money. All his life she would drag him down
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