y prosecution
against Miss Pettigrew."

"I'm very much afraid--he seemed most determined----"

"We must switch him off on to some other track," I said. "If you funk
tackling him----"

"I did my best."

"I suppose that I'd better try him. It's a nuisance. I hate arguing with
archdeacons; but of course we can't have Lalage put into a witness box
and ballyragged by archbishops and people of that kind, and she'd be
the only available witness. Hilda can't be in a position to give a clear
account of what happened, considering that she was half strangled by
Lalage's belt at the time."

"It was at the curate's class that the belt incident occurred," said the
Canon, "just after they had been throwing paper wads."

"So it was. All the same I don't think Hilda would be much use as a
witness. The memory of that choking would be constantly with her and
would render every scripture lesson a confused nightmare for months
afterward. The other girls would probably lose their heads. It's all
well enough to pelt curates with paper wads. Any one could do that. It's
quite a different thing to stand up before an ecclesiastical court and
answer a string of questions about nebulous things. That Archbishop will
find himself relying entirely on Lalage to prove the Archdeacon's case,
which won't be a nice position for her. I'll go home now and drive over
at once to see the Archdeacon."

"Do," said the Canon. "I'd go with you only I hate this kind of fuss.
Some men like it. The Archdeacon, for instance. Curious, isn't it, how
differently we're made, though we all look very much alike from the
outside. 'Sunt quos cumculo----'" I did not wait to hear the end of the
quotation.

I approached the Archdeacon hopefully, relying, I confess, less on the
intrinsic weight of the arguments I meant to use than on the respect
which I knew the Archdeacon entertained for my position in the county.
My mother is the sister of the present Lord Thormanby, a fact which
by itself predisposes the Archdeacon in my favour. My father was a
distinguished soldier. My grandfather was a still more distinguished
soldier, and there are pictures of his most successful battle hanging
in my dining-room. The Archdeacon has often seen them and I am sure
appreciates them. I am also, for an Irish landlord, a well-off man. I
might, so I believed, have trusted entirely to these facts to persuade
the Archdeacon to give up the idea of communicating Miss Pettigrew's
lapse into he