“The Archdeacon spoke of our rescuing Lalage from an equivocal position.”
“You ought to make that man bishop,” I said.
“Miss Battersby kept on assuring us all the way down in the train that Lalage is a most lovable child, very gentle and tractable if taken the right way, but high spirited.”
“That won’t help her much, because she’s no nearer now than she was ten years ago to finding out what is the right way to take Lalage. What are Miss Pettigrew’s views?”
“She varies,” said the Canon, “between chuckling over your position and wishing that Lalage was safely married with some babies to look after. She says there’ll be no peace in Ireland until that happens.”
“That’s an utterly silly scheme. There’s nobody here to marry her except Vittie, and I’m perfectly certain his aunts wouldn’t let him. He has two aunts. If that is all Miss Pettigrew has to suggest she might as well have stopped at home.”
The Canon sighed.
“I’m afraid I must be going,” he said, “I promised Miss Pettigrew that I’d be back in half an hour. We’re going to see Lalage at once.”
“Lalage will be in bed by the time you get there; if she’s not organizing another torchlight procession. You’d far better stop where you are.”
“I’d like to, but——”