“It’s the only honest course,” said Lalage.
I made an effort to assert myself, though I knew it was useless.
“There is such a thing,” I said, “as carrying honesty too far. All extremes are wrong. There are lots of occasions on which it isn’t at all right to tell the literal truth.”
“None,” said Lalage.
“Suppose a robber was robbing you, and you had a five-pound note inside your sock and suppose he said to you, ‘Have you any more money?’”
“That has nothing to do with the way you and Tithers have conspired together to deceive the very people who are trying to do you good.”
“Lalage,” I said, “I’ve subscribed liberally to the funds of the society. I’ll subscribe again. I did my best for you at the time of the bishop row. I don’t think you ought to turn on me now because I’m adopting the only means in my power of resisting a frightful tyranny. You might just as well call it dishonest of a prisoner to try to escape because he doesn’t tell the gaoler beforehand how he’s going to do it.”
“Hilda,” said Lalage, “collar that bag and come on.”
“Lalage,” I said sternly, “if you take that bag I’ll write straight to the Archdeacon.”
Hilda was already outside the door. Lalage turned.