“I’m so frightfully disappointed not to be able to come,” Ethel was saying regretfully, “but I’m afraid I must go to the Morrisons. I promised over a week ago. Thank you so much for asking me. Good morning.”
William followed her into the dining-room where his mother was.
“What did she want, dear?” said Mrs. Brown. “Go and wash your hands, William.”
“She wanted me to go in this evening but I told her I couldn’t because I was going to the Morrisons. Thank Heaven I had an excuse!”
William unfortunately missed the last sentence, as, still inspired by high ideals of virtue, he had gone at once upstairs to wash his hands. While he splashed about at the handbasin an idea suddenly occurred to him. That was how he’d help Ethel. He’d give her a happy evening. She should spend it with the Helms and not with the Morrisons. She’d sounded so sorry that she had to go to the Morrisons and couldn’t go to the Helms. He’d fix it all up for her this afternoon. He’d help her like he’d helped Robert.
He had hoped to be able to give Robert Miss Dexter’s note at lunch, but it turned out that Robert was lunching at the golf club with a friend.
Directly after lunch William set off to Mrs. Morrison’s house. He was shown into the drawing-room. Mrs. Morrison, large and fat and comfortable-looking, entered. She looked rather bewildered as she met William’s stern frowning gaze.
“I’ve come from Ethel,” said William aggressively. “She’s sorry she can’t come to-night.”
Mrs. Morrison’s cheerful countenance fell.
“The girls will be disappointed,” she said, “they saw her this morning and she said she was looking forward to it.”