I wonder why it is that so many able women have an incurably low opinion of their own sex? My mother would not say things like that about schoolboys, though they are at least equally sentimental and most of them more priggish. She is extremely kind to people like Miss Battersby, although she regards them as pitiably incompetent when their cosmetics are used on stable-boys. Yet she would not despise me or regard it as my fault if some one took my shaving soap and washed a kitchen maid’s face with it. “So,” I said, “Lalage is to go forth as a missionary of anarchy, a ravening wolf into the midst of a sheepfold.” “The Archdeacon was saying to me this morning,” said my mother, “that if you----” “May I interrupt you one moment?” I said. “I understood that the Archdeacon was in Dublin.” “This,” said my mother, “is another of the things which the Archdeacon would have said if he had been at home.” “Oh,” I said, “in that case I should particularly like to hear it.” “He said, or would have said, that if you allow your habit of flippant talking to grow on you you’ll lose all hold on the solemn realities of life and become a totally useless member of society.” “I quite admit,” I said, “that the Archdeacon would have put it in pretty nearly those words if he had said it. I particularly admire that part about the solemn realities of life. But the Archdeacon’s a just man and he would not have made a remark of that kind. He knows the facts. I hold a commission in the militia, which is one of the armed forces of the Crown; auxiliary is, I think, the word properly applied to it. I am a justice of the peace and every Wednesday I sit on the judgment seat in Drumbo and agree with the stipendiary magistrate in administering justice. I am also a churchwarden and the Archdeacon is well aware of what that means. He would be the first to admit that these are solemn realities. I don’t see what more I can do, unless I stand for Parliament. I suppose a constituency might be found somewhere which would value a man with a good temper and a little money to spare.” “Perhaps,” said my mother smiling, “we’ll find that constituency for you some day.” This was the first hint I ever got of my unfortunate destiny. It gave me a feeling of chill. There is nothing I want less than a seat in Parliament; but nothing seems more certain now than that I shall get one. Even then, when my mother made her first smiling reference to the subject, I knew in my heart that there was no escape for me. CHAPTER III