“Always,” said Miss Battersby fervently.
“That’s why it’s generally so difficult for other people.”
“The world,” said Miss Battersby, “is very hard.”
“And desperately wicked. If it were even moderately straightforward and honest Lalage would have been canonized long ago.”
“She’s a little foolish sometimes.”
“All great reformers,” I said, “appear foolish to the people of their own generation. It’s only afterward that their worth is recognized.”
Miss Battersby sighed again. Then she shook hands with me.
“I must go to Lord Thormanby,” she said, “He’ll want me to write his letters for him.”
“He won’t want you to write that one to Miss Pettigrew. He has his faults of temper, but he’s essentially a gentleman, and he wouldn’t dream of asking you to write that particular letter for him. I don’t think you need go to him yet. Stay and talk to me about Lalage and the hardness of the world.”
“If he doesn’t want me,” she said, “I ought to settle the flowers.”