“Not again. My original subscription carries me on from one society to another. Selby-Harrison arranged about that.” “I should have thought,” said Thormanby sulkily, “that you’d had warnings enough. You will never learn sense even if you live to be a hundred.” I saw the Archdeacon next day. He tackled the subject of my defeat in East Connor without hesitation. He has even less tact than Thormanby. “I’m sorry for you, my dear boy,” he said, wringing my hand, “more sorry than I can tell you. These disappointments are very hard to bear at your age. When you are as old as I am and know how many of them life has in store for all of us, you will not feel them nearly so acutely.” “I’m trying to bear up,” I said. “Your defeat is a public loss. I feel that very strongly. After your diplomatic experience and with your knowledge of foreign affairs your advice would have been invaluable in all questions of imperial policy.” “I’m greatly gratified to hear you say that. I was afraid you thought I had taken to drink.” “My dear boy,” said the Archdeacon with pained surprise, “what can have put such an idea into your head?” “I couldn’t help knowing what was in your mind that day in Dublin when I spoke to you about Lalage’s Jun. Soph. Ord.” I could see that the Archdeacon was uncomfortable. He had certainly entertained suspicions when we parted in St. Stephen’s Green, though he might now pretend to have forgotten them. “You thought so then,” I went on, “though it was quite early in the day.” “Not at all. I happened to be in a hurry. That is all. I knew perfectly well it was only your manner.” “I don’t blame you in the least. Anybody might have thought just as you did.” “But I didn’t. I knew you were upset at the time. You were anxious about Lalage Beresford. She’s a charming girl, with a very good heart, but----” The Archdeacon hesitated. “But----” I said, encouraging him to go on. “Did you hear,” he said, anxiously, “that she intends to take part in the episcopal election? A rumour to that effect has reached me.” “I have it on the best authority that she does.” “Tut, tut,” said the Archdeacon. “Do you tell me so? Tut, tut. But that is quite impossible and most undesirable, for her own sake most undesirable.” “We’re all relying on you to prevent scandal.” “Your uncle, Lord Thormanby----” “He’ll put her in her place. He’s promised to do so. And that will be all right as far as it goes. But the question is will she stay there. That’s where you come in, Archdeacon. Once she’s in her place it will be your business, as Archdeacon, to keep her there.” “I’ll speak to her father about it,” said the Archdeacon. “Beresford must put his foot down.” “He’s going to Brazil. He told me so.” “We can’t have that. He must stay here. It’s perfectly impossible for him to leave the country at present. I’ll see him this evening.”