“He didn’t mean it,” said Miss Battersby.
“Besides,” said my mother, “you will.”
I reflected on this. My mother and Miss Pettigrew are intimate friends. They must have talked over Lalage’s future together many times. I knew what Miss Pettigrew’s views were and I suspect that my mother was in full agreement with them. Owing to the emotional strain to which I had been subjected I may have been in a hypersensitive condition. I seemed to detect in my mother’s confident prophecy an allusion to Miss Pettigrew’s plans. Women, even women like my mother, are greatly wanting in delicacy. I was so much afraid of her saying something more on the subject that I bade Miss Battersby good-bye, hurriedly, and left the room.
After dinner my mother again took up the subject of my engagement.
“You’ll have to go over and see Canon Beresford early to-morrow morning,” she said.
“Of course. But I know what he’ll say to me.”
“I’m sure he’ll be as pleased as I am,” said my mother.
“He won’t say so.”
My mother looked questioningly at me. I answered her.
“He’ll quote that line of Horace,” I said, “about a placens uxor, but it won’t be true.”