William the Good Read Free Page B

place
again. That was what the boy in the book had done.
    He returned to the morning-room. They hadn’t begun the trial reading yet: they were all talking at once. They were discussing recent social happenings in the village. Mrs Jones, as a
newcomer, was feeling slightly out of it, and Mrs Jones had a lively sense of her own importance and did not like feeling out of it. She had previously, of course, been kept in countenance
by Mrs Morton, and she was still wondering what had made Mrs Morton go off like that. But there was no doubt at all that people weren’t making enough fuss of her, so she rose and said with an
air of great dignity:
    ‘Mrs Hawkins, I am suffering from a headache. May I go into your drawing-room and lie down?’
    She had often found that that focused the attention of everyone upon her. It did in this instance. They all leapt to their feet solicitously, fussed about her, escorted her to the drawing-room,
drew down the blinds and left her well pleased with the stir she had made.
    This, she thought, ought to assure the part of Rosalind for Blanche. They wouldn’t surely risk making her headache worse by giving the part to anyone else. Meanwhile, William was seated
upon the floor between Betty Hawkins and Ethel. His whole attention was focused upon Ethel’s bag which she had carelessly deposited upon the floor. Very slowly, very furtively, inch by inch,
William was drawing it towards him. At last he was able to draw it behind him. No one had seen. Betty and Ethel were talking about the play.
    ‘Do, I don’t really bind what I ab,’ Ethel was saying, untruthfully.
    Very skilfully, William took the silver dish out of the bag, slipped it into his pocket and put back the bag where it had been before. Then, murmuring something about going to look at the books
again, he slipped from the room and went back to the drawing-room to replace it. He had quite forgotten Mrs Jones, but just as he was furtively replacing the dish upon the table, her stern,
accusing voice came from the dark corner of the room where the couch stood.
    ‘What are you doing, boy?’
    William jumped violently.
    ‘I – I – I’m putting this back,’ he explained.
    ‘What did you take it away for?’ said Mrs Jones still more sternly. William hastened to excuse himself.
    ‘I din’ take it,’ he said. ‘Ethel took it,’ then, hastening to excuse Ethel. ‘She – she sort of can’t help taking things. I always,’ he
added virtuously, ‘try’n put back the things she’s took.’
    Mrs Jones raised herself, tall and dignified, from her couch.
    ‘Do you mean to say,’ she said, ‘that your sister stole it.’
    ‘Yes,’ said William. ‘She does steal things. We always try’n put them back when we find things she’s stole. I found this just now in her bag.’
    ‘A kleptomaniac,’ exclaimed Mrs Jones, ‘and I am expected to allow my daughter to associate with such people!’
    Quivering with indignation, she returned to the morning-room. William followed her.
    ‘Feeling better?’ said Mrs Hawkins brightly, ‘because if you are, I think we might begin the reading.’
    ‘I find,’ said Mrs Jones icily, ‘that I cannot, after all, stay for the reading. I must be getting home at once. Come, Blanche!’
    When she’d gone, Mrs Hawkins looked about her in helpless amazement.
    ‘Isn’t it extraordinary? ’ she said. ‘I simply can’t understand it. It’s an absolute mystery to me what’s come over them. Now, have I said a
single thing that could have annoyed them?’
    They assured her that she hadn’t.
    ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s just as well to have no dealings with people as unaccountable as that, so, Ethel dear, you’d better take Rosalind after all.’
    ‘Thag you so buch,’ said Ethel gratefully.
    ‘You’ve got a little cold, haven’t you?’
    ‘Yes, I hab,’ admitted Ethel, ‘perhaps I’d better go hobe dow. Bother asked me to ask you kidly to led her a bodbod dish and Betty kidly let