“You don’t know the temptation.”
Lalage stared at me.
“I’ve often felt it myself,” I said.
Lalage still stared. She was usually quick witted, but on this occasion she seemed to me to be positively dull. I suppose that the nerve storm through which she had passed had temporarily paralyzed the gray matter of her brain. I made an effort to explain myself.
“You must surely realize,” I said, “that the Archdeacon isn’t the only man in the world who would like—any man would—in fact every man must, unless he’s married already, and in that case he’s extremely sorry he can’t. I certainly do.”
Lalage grew gradually more and more crimson in the face while I spoke. At my last words she started violently, and for an instant I thought she was going to fall into the tank.
“Do be careful,” I said. “I don’t want to have to dive in after you and drag you, in a state of suspended animation, to the shore.”
Lalage recovered both her balance and her self-possession.
“Don’t you?” she said, with a peculiar smile.
“No, I don’t.”