“Out with it, Canon. You stick at that ‘but’ every time.”
“I promised Miss Pettigrew I’d go back.”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite. The fact is—you don’t know Miss Pettigrew, so you won’t understand.”
“You’re afraid of her?” I said.
“Well, yes, I am. Besides, the Archdeacon said some stiff things to me before we started, uncommonly stiff things. Stiff isn’t the word I want, but you’ll probably know what I mean.”
“Prickly,” I suggested.
“Yes, prickly. Prickly things about the responsibility of fatherhood and the authority of parents. I really must go.”
“Very well. If you must, you must, of course. But don’t drag me into it. Remember that I’ve got influenza and if Miss Pettigrew and Miss Battersby come here I’ll infect them. I rely on you to nip in the bud any suggestion that I’ve anything to do with the affair one way or the other. I tell you plainly that I’d rather see Lalage heading a torchlight procession every day in the week than married to Vittie.”
“The Archdeacon says that you are the person chiefly responsible for what he calls Lalage’s compromising position.”