ve you could perspire if you tried, Mary-Martha."

"Well, and _you_ needn't make a merit of it, . . . and if you ask
_me_," pursued Mrs Polsue, "one half of your palpitation is put on.
You're nervous what show you'll make in the drawing-room, and that's
why you're dilly-dallyin' with your questions and stoppages."

"Mrs Steele and me not being on visiting terms--" Miss Oliver
started to explain pathetically. "Yes, I know it was my _duty_ to
call when they first came: but what with one thing and another, and
not knowing how she might take it--Of course, Mary-Martha, if you
insist on walking ahead like a band-major, I can't prevent it.
But it only shows a ruck in your left stocking."

Mrs Polsue turned about in the road. "You were hoping, you said,
that I'd be taking a proper stand? If that woman comes any airs over
me--"

She walked on without finishing the sentence. "She's every bit as
much afraid as I am," said Miss Oliver to herself, as she panted to
catch up; "the difference being that I want to put it off and she's
dying to get it over." Aloud she remarked, "Well, and that's all I
was saying. As like as not they'll be trying to come it over us; and
if we leave it to Hambly--"

"_Him?_" Mrs Polsue sniffed. "You leave it to me!"

The Vicar welcomed them in the porch, and his pleasantly courteous
smile, which took their friendliness for granted, disarmed Mrs Polsue
for a moment. "It took the starch out of you straight: I couldn't
help noticin'," was Miss Oliver's comment, later in the day.
"It took me by surprise," Mrs Polsue corrected her: "--a man has no
business to stand grimacing in his own doorway like a--a--"
"Butler," suggested Miss Oliver, "--like a figure in a
weather-house. What do _you_ know about butlers? . . . but"--after a
pause--"I daresay you're right, there. I've heard it put about that
her father used to keep one; and quite likely, now you mention it,
she stuck her husband in the doorway to hide the come-down."
"The pot-plants were lovely," Miss Oliver sighed; "they made me feel
for the moment like Eve in the Garden of Eden." "Then I'm thankful
you didn't behave like it. _I_ was stiff enough by time we reached
the drawing-room."

"Stiff" indeed but faintly describes Mrs Polsue's demeanour in the
drawing-room; where, within a few minutes, were gathered Mrs
Pamphlett, Mr Hambly, Dr Mant (who had obligingly motored over from
St Martin's), five or six farm wives, with a husband or