I told my mother that night that I had studied the situation long enough and was fully determined to cast my vote for the Archdeacon. “He is thoroughly well fitted to be a bishop,” I said. “He told me to-day that my knowledge of foreign affairs would be most valuable to the government whenever questions of imperial policy turned up.” My mother seemed a little puzzled. “What has that got to do with the bishopric?” she asked. “The remark,” I said, “shows me the kind of man the Archdeacon is. No one who was not full of suave dignity and sympathetic diplomacy could have said a thing like that. What more do you want in a bishop?” “A great deal more,” said my mother, who takes these church questions seriously. “He also undertook,” I said, “to keep Lalage in her place once she is put there.” “If he does that----” “I quite agree with you. If he does that he ought to be a bishop, or a Metropolitan, if not a Patriarch. That’s why I’m going to vote for him.” CHAPTER XVIII My mother appeared to think that I had grown lazy since I recovered from my attack of influenza. She continually pressed me to take exercise and invented a hundred different excuses for getting me out of doors. When I saw that her heart was really set on seeing me walk I did what I could to gratify her. I promised to go over to the rectory after luncheon on the very next fine day. There seemed no prospect of a fine day for at least a month, and so I felt tolerably safe in making the promise. But there is nothing so unreliable as weather, especially Irish weather. I had no sooner made my promise than the clouds began to break. At twelve o’clock it stopped raining. At one the sun was shining with provoking brilliancy. I tried to ignore the change and at luncheon complained bitterly of the cold. My mother, by way of reply, remarked on the cheerful brightness of the sunshine. She did not, in so many words, ask me to redeem my promise, but I knew what was in her mind. “All right,” I said, “I’m going. I shall put on a pair of thick boots. I should prefer driving, but of course----” “Walking will be much better for you.” “That’s just what I was going to say, I shall run a certain amount of risk, of course. I may drop down exhausted. I am still very weak; weaker than I look. Or I may get overheated. Or I may get too cold.” My mother, curiously enough, for she was very fond of me, did not seem frightened. “McMeekin told me,” I went on, “that a relapse after influenza is nearly always fatal. However, I have made my will and I fully intend to walk.”