“I don’t see anything nice about it one way or the other,” said Lalage. “We simply thought that if it was anything—anything not quite ladylike, you’d be sure to know all about it.”
I do not know why Lalage should saddle me with a reputation of this kind. I have never done anything to deserve it. My feelings were hurt.
“As it turns out not to be improper,” I said, “there’s no use coming to me.”
I spoke severely, in cold tones, with great stiffness of manner. Lalage was not in the least snubbed.
“Have you any book in the house that would tell you?” she asked.
“I have a dictionary.”
“Stupid of me,” said Lalage, “not to have thought of a dictionary, and frightfully stupid of you, Hilda. You ought to have thought of it. You were always fonder of dictionaries than I was. There are two or three of them in the rectory. We might have gone straight there and looked it out. We’ll go now.”
“If it’s a really pressing matter,” I said, “you’ll save a few minutes by coming back with me. You’re fully a quarter of a mile from the rectory this minute.”
“Right,” said Lalage. “Let down the back of the trap and hop up. We’ll drive you.”
I let down the seat and then hopped. I hopped quite a long way before I succeeded in getting up. For Lalage started before I was nearly ready and urged the pony to a gallop at once. When we reached the house I sent the unfortunate animal round to the stable yard, with orders that he was to be carefully rubbed down and then walked about until he was cool. Lalage, followed by Hilda and afterward by me, went into the library.