Read CHAPTER XVI of Lalage's Lovers 1911 , free online book, by George A. Birmingham, on ReadCentral.com.

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 imderstood 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’Don-oghue 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 Bornéo.  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.”