were I'd wager a pretty large sum that
whatever the Archdeacon does he won't thank you."

"Have you any reason to suppose that he has a special objection to Pussy
Battersby?"

"None in the world. I'm sure he respects her. We all do."

"Then I don't see what you mean by saying that he won't thank me. He's
a tiresome old thing, especially when he tries to be polite, which he's
always doing, but he's not by any means a fool where his own interests
are concerned. He'll see at once that I'm doing him a kindness."

I found nothing more to say, so I left Lalage. I had at all events, done
my best. I drove home.

CHAPTER XXI

I was late for luncheon, very late. My mother had left the dining-room
when I got home, but I found her and she readily agreed to leave the
letters she was writing and to sit beside me while I ate. It was not, as
I discovered, sympathy for my exhaustion and hunger which induced her to
do this. She was full of curiosity.

"Well," she said, as I helped myself to some cold pie, "what was it?"

"It was Lalage," I said. "You guessed that before I started."

There was a short pause during which I ate some of the cold pie and
found out that it was made, partly at least, of veal. Then my mother
asked another question:

"Has she hit on anything unexpected?"

"Quite. She wants Thormanby to insist on the Archdeacon marrying Miss
Battersby."

Even my mother was startled. She gave utterance to an exclamation. If she
had been a man she would have sworn. I soothed her.

"It's not really a bad scheme," I said, "when you get over the first
shock. The Archdeacon, it appears, is bound to marry."

"Why?"

"Timothy says so or seems to say so. Perhaps he didn't really. What is
the proper, regularly received interpretation of that text which says
that a bishop is to be the husband of one wife?"

"There are several."

"The Archdeacon is sure to know them, I suppose."

"Oh, yes. He's certain to know them."

"He'll want them all this afternoon. Lalage is going to him with that
text drawn in her hand. She's also taking Miss Battersby, a wedding
ring, a cake, and a white satin dress. I'm speaking figuratively of
course."

"I hope so. But however figurative your way of putting it may be, I'm
afraid that the Archdeacon won't be pleased."

"So I told Lalage. But she's quite certain that he will. I should say
myself that he'd dislike it several degrees more than he did the simony.
I often think it's a pi