“She once libelled twenty-three bishops, she and Hilda and Selby-Harrison between them.”
“After all,” said Titherington, “you can say pretty near anything you like at an election. Nobody minds. I think we’re pretty safe. I’ll see that anything she says at our meetings is kept out of the papers, and she won’t get the chance of making regular speeches at Vittie’s.”
I felt quite sorry for Titherington. The interview with Lalage had evidently been even more drastic than I expected.
“Perhaps,” I said soothingly, “they’ll give her six weeks for the Jun. Soph. Ord., whatever it is, and then the whole election will be over before she gets out.”
“We can’t allow that,” said Titherington. “It would be a downright scandal to subject a girl like that—why, she’s quite young and—and actually beautiful.”
“We must hope that the Puffin may prove, as she expects, to be a disguised lamb.”
“I wish I knew who he is. I might get at him.”
“It’s too late to do anything now,” I said, “but I’ll try and find out in the course of the morning. If I can’t, we’ll get it all in the evening papers. They’re sure to report a case of the sort pretty fully.”
I left Titherington and walked across toward the club. I met the Archdeacon in St. Stephen’s Green. I might, and under ordinary circumstances I should, have slipped past him without stopping, for I do not think he saw me. But I was anxious about Lalage and I thought it likely that he would have some news of her. I hailed him and shook hands warmly.
“Up for a holiday?” I asked.