“Not for yourself, of course,” I said. “But you might carry it back to Miss Battersby. I’m horribly infectious just now. Even the nurse washes herself in Condy’s Fluid after being near me.”
“Miss Battersby must take her chance like the rest of us. I’ve come to talk about Lalage.”
“I told the Canon last night,” I said, “that I’m not capable of dealing with Lalage. I really am not. I know because I’ve often tried.”
“Listen to me for a minute,” said Miss Pettigrew. “We’ve got to get Lalage out of this. I’m not given to taking conventional views of things and I’m the last woman in Ireland to want to make girls conform to the standard of what’s called ladylikeness. But Lalage has gone too far. The newspapers are full of her and that’s not good for any girl.”
“I’m sure,” I said, “that if you represent that view of the case to Lalage——”
“We have. We spent two hours with her last night and three hours this morning. We didn’t produce the slightest effect.”
“Hilda cried,” said the Canon.
“After all,” I said, “that’s something. I couldn’t have made Hilda cry.”
“Hilda doesn’t count,” said Miss Pettigrew. “She’s a dear girl but anybody could manage her. We didn’t make Lalage cry.”
“No,” I said, “you couldn’t, of course. In fact, I expect, Lalage made you laugh.”