“Lalage?” I said.
Miss Battersby nodded solemnly.
“My mother told me it must be that, before I started.”
“If you could,” said Miss Battersby persuasively, “and if you would——”
“I can and will,” I said. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t bear to think of poor little Lalage bearing all the blame.”
“I can’t well take the blame,” I said, “although I’m perfectly willing to do so, unless I can find out what it is she’s done.”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. There was a letter from her this morning to Lord Thormanby, but he didn’t show it to me.”
“If it’s in her handwriting,” I said, “there’s no use my saying I wrote it. He wouldn’t believe me. But if it’s typewritten and not signed, I’ll say it’s mine.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to do so much as that. Besides, it wouldn’t be true.”