Presently, as he rounded a corner, he encountered one of those who disliked him in the person of Mrs. Spooner, the doctor’s wife, who was riding towards him on her bicycle. Dazzled by the sun in his eyes, he stepped to one side—the wrong side, to give her room, but unfortunately she turned in the same direction and only avoided a collision by applying her brakes with vigour and alighting awkwardly in the rough grass at the roadside.
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Jim, raising his hat.
She was a fiery, sandy-haired little woman, who always reminded him of an Irish terrier; and her weather-beaten face was wrinkled with anger as she answered him. “I was on my proper side,” she barked; “but I don’t suppose it has ever occurred to you that there is such a thing as the Rule of the Road.”
Jim was taken aback. “I’m awfully sorry,” he repeated. “I’m afraid I’ve made you angry.”
“Angry!” she snapped. “It’s no good being angry with you; it makes no impression. And, besides, a doctor’s wife has to learn to keep her temper. And then, again, you’re my landlord, and one mustn’t quarrel with one’s landlord.”
“Am I a bad landlord?” he asked.
“Well, you’re not exactly attentive,” she snarled, showing her teeth. “But then you don’t seem to understand English ways. You haven’t much idea of obligation, have you? When those little girls of yours were ill you ignored my husband and sent for an Oxford doctor. That was hardly polite, was it?”
“Oh, that’s the trouble, is it?” said Jim. “I say, I’m awfully sorry....”
She interrupted him with a gesture. “No, that’s only an example of the sort of thing you do. It’s your behavior in general we all object to. You haven’t got a friend in the place, except the village idiot.”
“You mean Smiley-face?” he queried.