ometimes."

"All great reformers," I said, "appear foolish to the people of their
own generation. It's only afterward that their worth is recognized."

Miss Battersby sighed again. Then she shook hands with me.

"I must go to Lord Thormanby," she said, "He'll want me to write his
letters for him."

"He won't want you to write that one to Miss Pettigrew. He has his
faults of temper, but he's essentially a gentleman, and he wouldn't
dream of asking you to write that particular letter for him. I don't
think you need go to him yet. Stay and talk to me about Lalage and the
hardness of the world."

"If he doesn't want me," she said, "I ought to settle the flowers."

It really is a pity that Thormanby will not persuade the Archdeacon to
marry Miss Battersby. Besides being sweet and lovable, as Lalage pointed
out, she has a strong sense of duty which would be quite invaluable
in the diocese. Very few people after an agitating morning would go
straight off to settle flowers.

CHAPTER XX

I looked at my watch as I got into my trap and found that it was eleven
o'clock, not more than two hours since my uncle's letter had been handed
to me at the breakfast table. Yet I felt thoroughly tired. No one who
has only just recovered from influenza ought to be called upon to face
a crisis. At the best of times a crisis of any magnitude is too much for
me. When I am weak anything of the sort exhausts me rapidly. It is most
unfair that I should be beset with crises as I am. Other men, men who
like excitement and unexpected calls for exertion, are condemned to
years of unbroken monotony. I, who desire nothing so much as peace,
have tumult and turmoil thrust upon me. I drove down the long avenue of
Thormanby Park and determined to get home as quickly as possible. There
is a greenhouse at the bottom of our garden which at that time was quite
unfrequented because something had gone wrong with the heating apparatus
and the more delicate plants had been removed from it. I intended to
retire to it as soon as I got home with a hammock chair and a novel. I
had every hope of being left in peace for an hour or so.

That was my plan. It proved, as all my plans do, unworkable; but, as
is always the case, through no fault of my own. At the gate lodge of
Thormanby Park I met Lalage. She was riding a bicycle and jumped down as
soon as she saw me. I pulled up my pony, of course. Even if Lalage
had not jumped down I should have pulled up the po