ossible 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'v