I fully expected a visit from Miss Pettigrew in the course of the next
day. I was not disappointed. She arrived at three o’clock, bringing
the Canon with her. I was greatly impressed by her appearance. She has
bright eyes which twinkled, and she holds her head very straight, pushed
well back on her shoulders so that a good deal of her neck is visible
below her chin. I felt at once that she was the sort of woman who could
do what she liked at me. I attempted my only possible line of defence.
“Aren’t you afraid of influenza?” I said. “Is it wise----?”
“I’m not in the least afraid,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“Not for yourself, of course,” I said. “But you might carry it back to
Miss Battersby. I’m horribly infectious just now. Even the nurse washes
herself in Condy’s Fluid after being near me.”
“Miss Battersby must take her chance like the rest of us. I’ve come to
talk about Lalage.”
“I told the Canon last night,” I said, “that I’m not capable of dealing
with Lalage. I really am not. I know because I’ve often tried.”
“Listen to me for a minute,” said Miss Pettigrew. “We’ve got to get
Lalage out of this. I’m not given to taking conventional views of things
and I’m the last woman in Ireland to want to make girls conform to the
standard of what’s called ladylikeness. But Lalage has gone too far. The
newspapers are full of her and that’s not good for any girl.”
“I’m sure,” I said, “that if you represent that view of the case to
Lalage----”
“We have. We spent two hours with her last night and three hours this
morning. We didn’t produce the slightest effect.”
“Hilda cried,” said the Canon.
“After all,” I said, “that’s something. I couldn’t have made Hilda cry.”
“Hilda doesn’t count,” said Miss Pettigrew. “She’s a dear girl but
anybody could manage her. We didn’t make Lalage cry.”
“No,” I said, “you couldn’t, of course. In fact, I expect, Lalage made
you laugh.”
Miss Pettigrew smiled and then checked herself. Amusement struggled with
a certain grimness for expression on her face. In the end she smiled
again.
“Lalage has always made me laugh,” she said, “ever since she was quite a
little girl. That’s what makes it so difficult to manage her.”
“Why try?” I said. “Lord Thormanby has washed his hands of her. So have
I. The Canon wants to. Wouldn’t it be simpler if you did too?”
“It would be much simpler,” said Miss Pettigrew. “But I’m not going to
do it. I have a very strong affection for Lalage.”
“We all have,” I said. “No one, not even the Canon has a stronger
affection than I have; but I don’t see how that helps us much. Something
more is required. If sincere affection would have saved Lalage from the
equivocal position in which she now is----”
Miss Pettigrew looked at me in a curious way which made me feel hot and
very uncomfortable even before I understood what she was thinking about.
Her eyes twinkled most brilliantly. The smile which had hovered about
her lips before broadened. I recollected what the Canon told me the
night before. Miss Pettigrew had suggested marriage for Lalage. I had
at once thought of Vittie. Miss Pettigrew was not thinking of Vittie. I
felt myself getting red in the face as she looked at me.
“I couldn’t,” I said at last. “This influenza has completely unstrung
me. I shouldn’t have the nerve. You must admit, Miss Pettigrew, that it
would require nerve.”
“I’m not suggesting your doing it to-day,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“Nor any other day,” I said. “I shouldn’t be able to screw myself up to
the pitch. I’m not that kind of man at all. What you want is some one
more of the Young Lochinvar type, or a buccaneer. They’re all dashing
men who shrink from nothing. Why not advertise for a buccaneer?”
“I don’t suppose she’d marry you if you did ask her,” said Miss
Pettigrew.
“I am sure she wouldn’t, so we needn’t go on talking about that. Won’t
you let me ring and get you a cup of tea? They make quite good tea in
this hotel!”
“It’s too early for tea, and I want to discuss this business of Lalage’s
seriously. The position has become quite impossible.”
“It’s been that for more than a week--but it still goes on. That’s the
worst of impossible positions. Nobody can ever stop them. Titherington
said it was impossible the day before he got influenza. You don’t know
Titherington, nor does the Canon. But if you did you’d realize that he’s
not the kind of man to let an impossible position alone and yet he was
baffled. I had letters yesterday morning from Vittie and O’Donoghue
asking me to cooperate with them in suppressing Lalage They see that
the position is impossible just as plainly as you do. But they can’t do
anything. In fact they’ve gone to bed.”
“I’m not going to bed,” said Miss Pettigrew. “I’m going to bring Lalage
home with me.”
“How?”
“I rather hoped,” said Miss Pettigrew, “that you might have some
suggestion that would help us.”
“I made my only suggestion to Titherington a week ago and it didn’t come
off. There’s no use my making it again!”
“What was it? Perhaps I could work it out.”
“It wasn’t much of a suggestion really. It was only Hilda’s mother.”
“I’ve wired to her and she’ll be here to-morrow. I’ve no doubt that
she’ll carry off Hilda, but she has no authority over Lalage.”
“Nobody has,” said the Canon despondingly. “I’ve said that all along.”
“What about the Provost of Trinity College?” I said. “He tackled her
over the bishops. You might try him.”
“He won’t interfere,” said the Canon. “I asked him.”
“Well,” I said, “I can do no more. You can see for yourself, Miss
Pettigrew, that I’m not in a state to make suggestions. I’m completely
exhausted already and any further mental exertion will bring on a
relapse. Do let me ring for tea. I want it myself.”
The door opened as I spoke. I hoped that my nurse or McMeekin had
arrived and would insist on my being left in peace. I was surprised and,
in spite of my exhaustion, pleased to see Lalage and Hilda walk in.
“Father,” said Lalage, “why didn’t you tell me last night that the
bishop is dead?”
“I didn’t think it would interest you,” said the Canon.
“Of course it interests me. When poor old Pussy mentioned it to me just
now I simply hopped out of my shoes with excitement and delight. So did
Hilda.”
“Did you hate the bishop that much?” I asked. “Worse than other
bishops?”
“Not at all,” said Lalage. “I never saw him except once and then I
thought he was quite a lamb.”
“Hilda,” I said, “why did you hop out of your shoes with excitement and
delight when you heard of the death of an old gentleman who never did
you any harm?”
“We’ll have to elect another, won’t we?” said Lalage.
A horrible dread turned me quite cold. I glanced at Miss Pettigrew. Her
eyes had stopped twinkling. I read fear, actual fear, in the expression
of her face. We both shrank from saying anything which might lead to the
confirming of our worst anticipations. It was the Canon who spoke next.
What he said showed that he was nearly desperate.
“Lalage,” he said, “will you come with me for a tour to Brazil? I’ve
booked one berth and I can easily get another!”
“I can’t possibly go to Brazil,” said Lalage, “and you certainly ought
not to think of it till the bishopric election is over.”
“I’ll take Hilda, too,” said the Canon. “I should like to have Hilda.
You and she would have great fun together.”
“I’ll give Selby-Harrison a present of his ticket,” I added, “and pay
his hotel expenses. It would be a delightful trip.”
“Brazil,” said Miss Pettigrew, “is one of the most interesting countries
in the world. I can lend you a book on the natural history.”
“Hilda’s mother wouldn’t let her go,” said Lalage. “Would she, Hilda?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Hilda. “She thinks I ought to be more at home.”
“Miss Pettigrew will talk her over,” I said. “It’s a great chance for
Hilda. She oughtn’t to miss it.”
“And Selby-Harrison has just entered the Divinity School,” said Lalage.
“He couldn’t possibly afford the time.”
“The long days on the steamer,” I said, “would be perfectly invaluable
to him. He could read theology from morning to night. There’d be
nothing, except an occasional albatross, to distract his attention.”
“Those South American republics,” said Miss Pettigrew, “are continually
having revolutions.”
Miss Pettigrew is certainly a very clever woman. Her suggestion was
the first thing which caused Lalage to waver. A revolution must be
very attractive to a girl of her temperament; and revolutions are
comparatively rare on this side of the Atlantic. Lalage certainly
hesitated.
“What do you think, Hilda?” she asked.
For one moment I dared to hope.
“There’s been a lot of gun-running done out there lately,” I said, “and
I heard of a new submarine on the Amazon.”
I am afraid I overdid it. Miss Pettigrew certainly frowned at me.
“Mother would never let me,” said Hilda.
I had forgotten Hilda’s mother for the moment. I saw at once that the
idea of gun-running would frighten her and she would not like to think
of her daughter ploughing the bottom of the Amazon in a submarine.
“Besides,” said Lalage, “it wouldn’t be right. It’s our duty, our plain
duty, to see this bishopric election through. I’m inclined to think that
the Archdeacon is the proper man.”
“When do you start for the scene of action?” I asked.
“At once,” said Lalage. “There’s a train at six o’clock this evening.
We left poor Pussy packing her bag and ran round to tell Miss Pettigrew
about the change in our plans. I’m dead sick of this old election of
yours, anyhow. Aren’t you?”
“I am,” I said fervently. “I’m so sick of it that I don’t care if I
never stand for Parliament again. By the way, Lalage, now that you’re
turning your attention to church affairs wouldn’t it be as well to
change the name of the society again. You might call it the Episcopal
Election Association. E. E. A. would look well at the head of your
notepaper and might be worked up into a monogram.”
“I daresay we shall make a change,” said Lalage, “but if we do we’ll be
a guild, not a society or an association. Guild is the proper word for
anything connected with the church, or high-class furniture, or art
needlework. Selby-Harrison will look into the matter for us. But in any
case it will be all right about you. You’ll still be a life member. Come
along, Hilda. We have a lot of people to see before we start. I have to
give out badges to about fifty new members.”
“Will that be necessary now?” I asked.
“Of course. If anything, more.”
“But if you’re changing the name of the society?”
“That won’t matter in the least. Do come on, Hilda. We shan’t have time
if you dawdle on here. In any case Pussy will have to pack our clothes
for us.”
They swept out of the room. Miss Pettigrew got up and shut the door
after them. The Canon was too much upset to move.
“I congratulate you, Miss Pettigrew,” I said. “You’ve succeeded after
all in getting Lalage out of this. I hardly thought you would.”
“This,” said the Canon, “is worse, infinitely worse.”
“I’m not quite sure,” said Miss Pettigrew, “about the procedure in these
cases. Who elects bishops?”
“The Diocesan Synod,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Canon?”
“Yes,” he said, gloomily.
“And who constitutes the Diocesan Synod?” said Miss Pettigrew.
“A lot of parsons,” I said. “All the parsons there are, and some dear
old country gentlemen of blameless lives. Just the people really to
appreciate Lalage.”
“We shall have more trouble,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“Plenty,” I said. “And Thormanby will be in the thick of it. He won’t
find it so easy to wash his hands this time.”
“Nor will you,” said Miss Pettigrew smiling, but I think maliciously.
“I shall simply stay here,” I said, “and go on having influenza.”
I have so much respect for Miss Pettigrew that I do not like to say she
grinned at me but she certainly employed a smile which an enemy might
have described as a grin.
“The election here,” she said, “your election takes place, as I
understand, early next week. Your mother will expect you home after
that.”
“Mothers are often disappointed,” I said. “Look at Hilda’s, for
instance. And in any case my mother is a reasonable woman. She’ll
respect a doctor’s certificate, and McMeekin will give me that if I ask
him.”
The Canon had evidently not been attending to what Miss Pettigrew and I
were saying to one another. He broke in rather abruptly:
“Is there any other place more attractive than Brazil?”
He was thinking of Lalage, not of himself. I do not think he cared much
where he went so long as he got far from Ireland.
“There are, I believe,” I said, “still a few cannibal tribes left in the
interior of Borneo. There are certainly head hunters there.”
“Dyaks,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“I might try her with them,” said the Canon.
“If Miss Pettigrew,” I suggested, “will manage Hilda’s mother, the
thing might possibly be arranged. Selby-Harrison could practise being a
missionary.”
“I shouldn’t like Hilda to be eaten,” said Miss Pettigrew.
“There’s no fear of that,” I said. “Lalage is well able to protect her
from any cannibal.”
“I’ll make the offer,” said the Canon. “Anything would be better than
having Lalage attempting to make speeches at the Diocesan Synod.”
Miss Pettigrew had her packing to do and left shortly afterward. The
Canon, who seemed to be really depressed, sat on with me and made plans
for Lalage’s immediate future. From time to time, after I exposed
the hollow mockery of each plan, he complained of the tyranny of
circumstance.
“If only the bishop hadn’t died,” he said.
The dregs of the influenza were still hanging about me. I lost my temper
with the Canon in the end.
“If only,” I said, “you’d brought up Lalage properly.”
“I tried governesses,” he said, “and I tried school.”
“The only thing you did not try,” I said, “was what the Archdeacon
recommended, a firm hand.”
“The Archdeacon never married,” said the Canon. “I’m often sorry he
didn’t. He wouldn’t say things like that if he had a child of his own.”