“We thought,” said Lalage, “that as it didn’t much matter to us where we went we might as well come out to see you. You were the only person who gave a decent ‘sub’ to the society. I’ll explain our new idea to you later on.” “I’m very glad I did,” I said. “If another fiver would bring Selby-Harrison by the next steamer--Hullo! Here’s Hilda back with Miss Battersby. I hardly thought she’d have succeeded in getting her. How do you do, Miss Battersby? I’m delighted to welcome you to Lisbon, and I must do my best for you now you’re here. I’m quite at your disposal for the day.” Miss Battersby smiled feebly. She had not yet recovered from the effects of the sea voyage. “First,” said Lalage, “we’ll go to an hotel.” “Of course,” I said, “to get the cigarettes.” “No,” said Lalage; “to let Miss Battersby get to bed. She wants to get to bed, doesn’t she, Hilda?” Hilda, who was supporting Miss Battersby, and so in a position to judge of her condition, nodded. “She’s frightfully weak,” said Lalage to me, “on account of not having eaten anything except two water biscuits and an apple for nearly a week.” “In that case,” I said, “a little luncheon----” “Could you eat luncheon?” said Lalage to Miss Battersby. Miss Battersby seemed to wish to try. “Could she, Hilda?” said Lalage. “It’s a long time since she has.” “She must make a beginning some day,” I said. “I still think she’d be better in bed,” said Lalage. “After lunch,” I said firmly. “You ought not to be vindictive, Lalage. It’s a long time since that trouble about the character of Mary.” “I’m not thinking of that,” said Lalage. “And she’s not a bishop. Why should you starve her?” “Very well,” said Lalage. “Do whatever you like, but don’t blame me afterward if she’s---- she was, on the steamer, horribly.” We fed Miss Battersby on some soup, a fragment of fried fish and a glass of light wine. She evidently wanted to eat an omelette as well, but Lalage forbade this. Whether she was actually put to bed afterward or merely laid down I do not know. She must have been at least partially undressed, for Lalage and Hilda were plentifully supplied with cigarettes during the afternoon. CHAPTER VI Lalage, Hilda, and I went for a drive in one of the attractive carriages which ply for hire in the Lisbon streets. We drove up one side of the Avenida de Liberdade and down the other. I did the duty of a good cicerone by pointing out the fountains, trees and other objects of interest which Lalage and Hilda were sure to see for themselves. When we had exhausted the Avenida I suggested going on to Belem. Lalage did not seem pleased. She said that driving was not her idea of pleasure. She wanted something more active and exciting. I agreed. “We’ll go in a tram,” I said. “Where to?” “Belem.” “Belem’s a church, isn’t it, Hilda?” Hilda and I both admitted that it was. “Then we can’t go there,” said Lalage decidedly. “Why not?” I ventured to ask. “You said yourself that it wouldn’t be decent.”