I did walk as far as the gate lodge and about a hundred yards beyond it. It was not in any way my fault that I got no farther. I was actually beginning to like walking and should certainly have gone on if Lalage had not stopped me. She and Hilda were in the Canon’s pony trap, driving furiously. Lalage held the reins. Hilda clung with both hands to the side of the trap. The pony was galloping hard and foaming at the mouth. I stepped aside when I saw them coming and climbed more than halfway up a large wooden gate which happened to be near me at the time. The road was very muddy and I did not want to be splashed from head to foot. Besides, there was a risk of being run over. When Lalage caught sight of me she pulled up the pony with a jerk. “We were just going to see you,” she said. “It’s great luck catching you like this. What’s simony?” I climbed down from the gate, slowly, so as to get time to think. The question surprised me and I was not prepared to give, offhand, a definition of simony. “I don’t know,” I said at last, “but I think, in fact I’m nearly sure, that it is some kind of ecclesiastical offence, perhaps a heresy. Were you coming to see me in order to find out?” “Yes, That’s the reason we were in such a terrific hurry.” “Quite so,” I said. “I was a little surprised at first to see you galloping, but now I understand.” “Would it,” said Lalage, “be simony to cheek an Archdeacon?” “It might. It very well might. Is that what you’ve done, Hilda?” “I didn’t,” said Hilda. “You did, just as much as me,” said Lalage, “and it was to you he said it, so he evidently meant you. Not that either of us did cheek him really.” “Why didn’t you ask your father?” I said. “He’s a Canon and he’d be almost sure to know.” “I didn’t like to speak to him about it until I knew what it was. It might turn out to be something that I wouldn’t care to talk to him about, something--you know the kind of thing I mean.” “Improper?” “Not quite so bad as that, but the same sort.” “Risqué? But surely the Archdeacon wouldn’t say anything the least----” “You never know,” said Lalage. “And if it had been that Hilda would never have done it.” “I didn’t,” said Hilda. “Of course if it’s nothing worse than ordinary cheek,” said Lalage, “I shouldn’t have minded talking to father about it in the least. But I don’t see how it could be that, for we didn’t cheek him. Did we, Hilda?” “I didn’t,” said Hilda. “If there’d been anything of the other sort about it--and it sounds rather like that, doesn’t it?” “Very,” I said; “but you can’t trust sounds.” “Anyhow, we thought it safer to come to you,” said Lalage. “That was nice of you both.” “I don’t see anything nice about it one way or the other,” said Lalage. “We simply thought that if it was anything--anything not quite ladylike, you’d be sure to know all about it.” I do not know why Lalage should saddle me with a reputation of this kind. I have never done anything to deserve it. My feelings were hurt.