I had forgotten Hilda’s mother for the moment. I saw at once that the idea of gun-running would frighten her and she would not like to think of her daughter ploughing the bottom of the Amazon in a submarine.
“Besides,” said Lalage, “it wouldn’t be right. It’s our duty, our plain duty, to see this bishopric election through. I’m inclined to think that the Archdeacon is the proper man.”
“When do you start for the scene of action?” I asked.
“At once,” said Lalage. “There’s a train at six o’clock this evening. We left poor Pussy packing her bag and ran round to tell Miss Pettigrew about the change in our plans. I’m dead sick of this old election of yours, anyhow. Aren’t you?”
“I am,” I said fervently. “I’m so sick of it that I don’t care if I never stand for Parliament again. By the way, Lalage, now that you’re turning your attention to church affairs wouldn’t it be as well to change the name of the society again. You might call it the Episcopal Election Association. E. E. A. would look well at the head of your notepaper and might be worked up into a monogram.”
“I daresay we shall make a change,” said Lalage, “but if we do we’ll be a guild, not a society or an association. Guild is the proper word for anything connected with the church, or high-class furniture, or art needlework. Selby-Harrison will look into the matter for us. But in any case it will be all right about you. You’ll still be a life member. Come along, Hilda. We have a lot of people to see before we start. I have to give out badges to about fifty new members.”
“Will that be necessary now?” I asked.
“Of course. If anything, more.”
“But if you’re changing the name of the society?”
“That won’t matter in the least. Do come on, Hilda. We shan’t have time if you dawdle on here. In any case Pussy will have to pack our clothes for us.”