Miss Pettigrew smiled and then checked herself. Amusement struggled with a certain grimness for expression on her face. In the end she smiled again.
“Lalage has always made me laugh,” she said, “ever since she was quite a little girl. That’s what makes it so difficult to manage her.”
“Why try?” I said. “Lord Thormanby has washed his hands of her. So have I. The Canon wants to. Wouldn’t it be simpler if you did too?”
“It would be much simpler,” said Miss Pettigrew. “But I’m not going to do it. I have a very strong affection for Lalage.”
“We all have,” I said. “No one, not even the Canon has a stronger affection than I have; but I don’t see how that helps us much. Something more is required. If sincere affection would have saved Lalage from the equivocal position in which she now is——”
Miss Pettigrew looked at me in a curious way which made me feel hot and very uncomfortable even before I understood what she was thinking about. Her eyes twinkled most brilliantly. The smile which had hovered about her lips before broadened. I recollected what the Canon told me the night before. Miss Pettigrew had suggested marriage for Lalage. I had at once thought of Vittie. Miss Pettigrew was not thinking of Vittie. I felt myself getting red in the face as she looked at me.
“I couldn’t,” I said at last. “This influenza has completely unstrung me. I shouldn’t have the nerve. You must admit, Miss Pettigrew, that it would require nerve.”
“I’m not suggesting your doing it to-day,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“Nor any other day,” I said. “I shouldn’t be able to screw myself up to the pitch. I’m not that kind of man at all. What you want is some one more of the Young Lochinvar type, or a buccaneer. They’re all dashing men who shrink from nothing. Why not advertise for a buccaneer?”
“I don’t suppose she’d marry you if you did ask her,” said Miss Pettigrew.