"I need scarcely tell you," said the Canon, "that I had no idea when I spoke that there had been any previous discussion of the subject." "The article ends there, I suppose," I said. "Yes," said Lalage. "She had it in for me after that worse than ever, knowing that I had jolly well scored off her." "And in the end she broke out over your effort to improve Tom Kitterick's complexion?"
I was naturally anxious to hear Miss Battersby's version of the experimental treatment of Tom Kitterick's complexion. I hoped that my mother would have told me the story voluntarily. She did not, so I approached the subject obliquely after dinner. "The Archdeacon," I said, "was lamenting to me this morning that Mrs. Beresford died while Lalage was still a baby."
It was Tom Kitterick who put it there, and I helped him. Tom Kitterick is the boy who cleans the boots and pumps the water. It was that time," she added, "that I got paint all over my blue dress. She said it was Tom Kitterick's fault." "It may have been," I said, "partly. Anyhow Tom Kitterick is a red-haired, freckly youth. It wouldn't do him any harm to be slanged a bit for something."