My mother admitted frankly that this was true; but she seemed to think my explanation incomplete. I added to it.
“He went on to speak at some length,” I said. “That is to say he would have gone on to speak at some length about the great importance of a mother’s influence during the early years of a girl’s life.”
My mother still looked at me and her face still wore a questioning expression. It was evident to me that I must further justify myself.
“So I’m not doing the Archdeacon any wrong,” I went on, “in putting into his mouth words and sentiments which he would certainly approve. I happen to have forestalled him in giving them expression, but he would readily endorse them. You know yourself that he’s great on subjects like the sacred home influence of a good woman.”
“I suppose,” said my mother after a pause, “that you want to hear the whole account of Lalage’s latest escapade?”
“Miss Battersby’s version of it,” I said. “I heard the Canon’s after luncheon.”
“And that story of yours about the Archdeacon——”
“That,” I said, “was my way of introducing the subject without displaying what might strike you as vulgar curiosity. I have too much respect for you to heckle you with aggressive inquiries as if you were a Chief Secretary for Ireland and I were a Member of Parliament. Besides, I don’t like the feeling that I’m asking blunt questions about Miss Battersby’s private affairs. After all, she’s a lady. I’m sure you’ll appreciate my feelings.”
“Lalage,” said my mother, “is an extremely naughty little girl who will be a great deal better at school.”
“But have you considered the plan from the point of view of the school you’re sending her to?”