“Of course,” said Lalage. “What else could it be?”
“In that case I mustn’t keep you. You’ll be wanting to look up your astronomy. But you must allow me to parcel up the rest of the cakes for you. I should like you to have them and you’re sure to be hungry again before bedtime.”
“Won’t you want them yourself?”
“No, I won’t. And even if I did I wouldn’t eat them. It would hardly be fair to Mr. Titherington. He’s doing his best for me and he’ll naturally expect me to keep as fit as possible.”
“Very well,” said Lalage, “rather than to leave them here to rot or be eaten by mice we’ll take them. Hilda, pack them up in that biscuit tin and take care that the creamy ones don’t get squashed.”
Hilda tried to pack them up, but the biscuit tin would not hold them all. We had not finished the wafers which it originally contained. I rang for the waiter and made him bring us a cardboard box. We laid the cakes in it very tenderly. We tied on the lid with string and then made a loop in the string for Hilda’s hand. It was she who carried both the box and the biscuit tin.
“Good-bye,” said Lalage. “We’ll meet again on the twenty-first.”
It was not until after they were gone that I understood why we should meet again on the twenty-first. That was the day of my first meeting in East Connor, and Lalage had promised to speak at it. I felt very uneasy. It was utterly impossible to guess at what might happen when Lalage appeared in the constituency. I sat down and wrote a letter to Canon Beresford. I did not expect him to do anything, but it relieved my mind to write. After all, it was his business, not mine, to look after Lalage. Three days later I got an answer from him, which said:
“I shall not be at all surprised, if Lalage turns out to be a good platform speaker. She has, I understand, had a good deal of practice in some college debating society and has acquired a certain fluency of utterance. She always had something to say, even as a child. I wish I could run up to County Down and hear her, but it is a long journey and the weather is miserably cold. The Archdeacon told me yesterday that you meant to employ her in this election of yours. He seemed to dislike the idea very much and wanted me to ‘put my foot down.’ (The phrase, I need scarcely say, is his.) I explained to him that if I put my foot down Lalage would immediately tread on it, which would hurt me and not even trip her. Besides, I do not see why I should. If Lalage finds that kind of thing amusing she ought to be allowed to enjoy it. You have my best wishes for your success with the turba Quiritium. I am glad, very, that it is you who have to face them, not I. I do not know anything in the world that I should dislike more.”