“Yes,” said Hilda, “she’ll be frightfully angry.”
At this moment my mother came into the library.
“Thank goodness,” said Lalage, “we have some one at last who can talk sense.”
My mother looked questioningly at me. I offered her an explanation of the position in the smallest possible number of words.
“The Archdeacon,” I said, “is going to put Lalage and Hilda into prison for simony.”
“He can’t,” said Lalage, “for we didn’t do it.”
“They did,” I said, “both of them. They offered to present the Archdeacon corruptly to an ecclesiastical benefice for a reward.”
“It wasn’t a reward.”
“Lalage,” said my mother, “have you been meddling with this bishopric election?”
“I simply tried,” said Lalage, “to find out whether he was properly qualified.”