"It could be," said the guard pocketing my second half crown, "that the young lady might be for getting out at the wrong station. There's some of them does."

"Nothing so simple as that," I said. "Any ordinary young lady would get out at a wrong station, and a couple of shillings would be plenty to offer you for chasing her in again. This one----"

I hesitated, for I really did not know what Lalage was likely to do.

"I'll lock the door on her, anyway," said the guard.

"You may, but don't flatter yourself that you'll have her safe then.

The only thing you can calculate on in the case of this particular young lady is that whatever she does will be something that you couldn't possibly guess beforehand. Not that there's any real harm in her. She's simply possessed of an adventurous spirit and striking originality.

Good-bye."

I had just time to shake hands with Lalage before the train started. She waved her pocket handkerchief cheerily to us as we stood together on the platform. I caught a glimpse of the guard's face while his van swept past us. It wore a set expression, like that of a man determined in the cause of duty to go steadily forward into the unknown facing dread things bravely. I was satisfied that I had made a deep impression on him and I felt sorry that I had not made up his tip to an even half sovereign.

The Canon was depressed as we drove home together. I felt it my duty to cheer him up as much as I could.

"After all," I said, "you've nothing to reproach yourself with.

Miss Battersby has got another situation. She'll be far happier at Thormanby's than she ever could have been with you. His girls are thoroughly well brought up."

"She was very fond of Lalage," said the Canon.

"Still, they didn't suit each other. Miss Battersby will get over any feeling of regret she may have at first. She'll be far more at home with quiet, well-tamed girls like Thormanby's."

The Canon was not listening to me. I judged from this that it was not anxiety about Miss Battersby's future that was preying on his mind. I tried again.

"If it's the thought of that bottle of glycerine and cuc.u.mber which is worrying you," I said, "don't let it. Send her another. Send her two.

Make Tom Kitterick carry them over to Thormanby Park and present them on bended knee, clad only in his shirt and with a halter round his neck."

The Canon's gloom merely deepened.

"I don't think," I said, "that you need fret about Miss Pettigrew. After all, it's her job. She must meet plenty of high-spirited girls."

"I wasn't thinking of her," said the Canon.

Then he began to murmur to himself and I was barely able, by leaning over toward him, to catch the quotation.

"Miserarum est neque amori dare ludem. . . ."

He saw that I was listening and lapsed into English. "There's a translation of that ode," he said, "into something quite like the original metre":

"'How unhappy is the maiden who with Cupid may not play, And who may not touch the wine cup, but must listen all the day To an uncle and the scourging of his tongue'"

"Come now, Canon," I said, "Lalage is a precocious child, I know. But she won't feel those particular deprivations yet awhile. She didn't try to flirt with Tom Kitterick, did she?"

"It's all the same thing really," said the Canon. "The confinement and discipline will be just as severe on her as they were on that girl of Horace's, though, of course, they will take a different form. She's been accustomed to a good deal of freedom and independence."

"According to the Archdeacon," I said, "to more than was good for her."

"I couldn't help that."

"No, you couldn't. n.o.body could. My mother thinks Miss Pettigrew may, but I don't believe it myself. Lalage will break out all right as soon as she gets a chance."

For the first time since we left the station the Canon smiled and seemed a little more cheerful.

"If I thought that----" he said.

"You may be perfectly sure of it, but I don't think you ought actually to hope it. The Archdeacon is a very wise man and I'm sure that, if he contemplates the possibility at all, he fears it."

"I suppose so," said the Canon, sighing again. "It will all be a great change for Lalage, whatever happens."

CHAPTER IV

I feared at first that Lalage was not going to write to me. Nearly three weeks pa.s.sed before I got a letter from her and I was inclined to blame her for neglect of an old friend. When the letter did arrive I imderstood that I had no right to be angry. Lalage was better than I had dared to hope. She kept a kind of irregular diary in an exercise book and sent it to me. It was, like all diaries, in disconnected paragraphs, evidently written down when the mood for recording experiences was on Lalage. There were no dates attached, but the first entry must, I think, embody the result of a very early series of impressions. One, at least, of the opinions expressed in it was modified later on:

"When I arrived I was hustled into a room by a small fat lady dressed in purple; not the old Pet, which is what we call Miss Pettigrew. I waited for ten minutes. Then I was hustled upstairs by the same purple-clothed lady, and shown a locker, Number 73. There I stayed for about five minutes and then was driven down again by the purple-clothed lacly and pushed into the same room as I had been before. Again I was herded off (after about five minutes), needless to say by the purple-robed woman, and shoved into a waiting-room."

Lalage's patience must by this time have been wearing thin. It is noticeable that the "lady" had become a mere "woman" in the last sentence.

"There I stayed twenty minutes, a long twenty minutes, and lo! there came the purple-dressed woman unto me and bore me away to be examined.

She slung me at the mercy of a mistress who gave me a desk (with a chair clamped to the ground) paper, pen and examination papers. Could you answer the following: Who succeeded (a) Stephen, (b) John, (c) Edward III? I said to the old Pet, 'This is all rotten.' (By the way, I had been sent off to her when I had done.) And she replied, 'Oh, that's not at all a nice word for a young lady to use. We can't have that here.'

She's rather an a.s.s.

"I was made to feel exactly like Lady Macbeth to-day at algebra. When Miss Campbell turned her back, another girl dared me to put my pen in Miss Campbell's red ink. (This is strictly against the law.) So of course I did. But instead of mopping it straight off like a fool I displayed it with pride. Consequently it fell all over my hands. Miss Campbell was just coming up so I had to hide them murmuring 'Out, d.a.m.ned spot!' etc. Luckily she didn't see, for she's just the sort that would report you like a shot."

"The names of suburban houses are awfully funny."

This entry evidently followed one of Lalage's first outings. I felt acutely the contrast between the pleasant chestnut tree, the fragrant sty, and the paved footways along which she is now condemned to tramp.

"An awful, staring, backgardenly looking house, with muslin curtains, frilly and a jumpy looking pattern on the side is called 'Sans Souci!'

One a.s.s calls his stable Cliftonville, although I bet he's never seen Clifton. Ardenbough and Honeysuckle Arbour are common.

"To-day we heard a frightful row in the corridor, laughing, talking, and trampling. Miss Campbell half rose and said: 'I must put a stop to this.' Before she could, the door was flung open and in bounced--the old Pet and three visitors! After a moment's conversation with Miss Campbell she retired, banging the door in a way she'd expel any one else for.

"This letter _is_ lasting on. Hilda gets sixpence every time she is top, threepence second, and twopence third, but does not get any regular pocket money. She's very rich at present, as she's been top three times running. How I'd like to play Rugby football. It looks enticing to be let knock a person down. It _is_ a pity girls can't, only lucky boys. I wonder why I feel poorer here than at home and yet have more money."

The Canon had, I am sure, provided Lalage with a suitable amount of pocket money. I myself gave her five shillings the day before she left home. She ought not to feel poor. Compared to Hilda, who has one-and-sixpence, earned in the sweat of her brow, Lalage must seem a millionaire.

"Do you know the kind of person who you hate and yet can't help loving although you are afraid of her? That is the sort the old Pet is. As I was going into school to-day she was standing at the door. The beast promptly spotted the fact that I had no hair ribbon, and remarked in awe-inspiring tones, 'Lalage, where is your hair ribbon?' 'Forgot it,'

said I, and took a lecture with a polite grin. The old Pet may be a beast, but is _not_ an a.s.s. I hope the weather will improve soon.

"There is no doubt that I am of a persevering nature or I would not continue to write this letter. I fear it is so long that you'll never get through it, though I did not know it until now. I know a girl who is learning Greek. She's awful, and so clever. She is in my Latin cla.s.s and prime favourite with Carpy.

"Your affect.

"Lalage."