“I don’t wonder at all. Any nice-minded girl would. It can’t be pleasant for her to see her mother in such a state.”
“Don’t drivel,” said Lalage. “Hilda isn’t crying for that. She’s not a perfect idiot, whatever you may say.”
“I didn’t say anything of the sort. I said she was a nice-minded girl.”
“Same thing,” said Lalage, “and she’s not either the one or the other.”
“Then why is she crying?”
“Because her mother is taking her home. That’s the reason I’m going for Pussy Battersby.”
“She’ll be a poor substitute for Hilda,” I said. “She’ll boggle at simony every time.”
“What are you talking about now?”
“Miss Battersby. I’m trying to explain that she’ll hardly be able to take Hilda’s place as the companion of your revels.”
“What I’m getting her for,” said Lalage severely, “is to restore the confidence of Hilda’s mother. She doesn’t trust me one bit, silly of her, isn’t it? And she’s ragged poor father into a condition of incoherence.”