“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lalage. “I didn’t insult her. She insulted me.” “Come now, Lalage, honour bright! That smile of yours! How would you like any one to make you ten times worse by smiling blandly at you when you happened to be stamping about the floor crimson in the face and shrieking----” “I wouldn’t. I don’t use words of that sort even when I’m angry.” “It might be better if you did. A frank outburst of that kind is at times less culpable than a balmy smile. I have a much greater respect and liking for the person who says plainly what she means than----” “She didn’t. She wouldn’t think it ladylike.” “Didn’t what?” “Didn’t say straight out what she meant.” “She can’t have meant more,” I said. “After all, we must be reasonable. There isn’t any more that any one could mean.” “You’re very stupid,” said Lalage. “I keep on telling you she didn’t say it. She’s far too great a hypocrite.” “Do you mean to say that she didn’t stamp about the floor and say----” I hesitated. I have been very carefully brought up and I am a churchwarden. Besides, there is a Latin tag which Canon Beresford, who has a taste for tags, quotes occasionally, about the great reverence due to boys. Obviously a much greater reverence must be due to girls. I did not want my conscience to have an opportunity for reproaching me. Therefore I hesitated when it came to the point of saying out loud a word which Lelage ought certainly not to hear. She came to my rescue and finished my sentence for me in a way which got me out of my difficulty. Very likely she felt that she ought not to corrupt me. “That word,” she said. “Thanks! We’ll put it that way. Am I to understand that she didn’t say that word?” “Certainly not,” said Lalage. “She couldn’t if she tried. I should--I really think I should quite like her if she did.”