“I am at least relieved,” he said, “that you were capable of putting in an appearance.”
“Oh ay,” Robert answered cheerfully. “I’ve never failed these thirty year—though there ’ave been times, I allow, when I’d rather a laid a-bed. But Hannah sees to that.”
“I heard,” the vicar said gravely, “that you were very drunk last night, Robert.”
“I was, sir,” Robert admitted, unabashed.
When an unpleasant situation had to be faced he liked to face it and get it over. Usually on these occasions he carried matters to a triumphant finish and got as much satisfaction out of them as tribulation. When a thing is done, it’s done, was Robert’s philosophy; no use grizzling over it.
“I am ashamed of you,” the vicar said. “Your conduct was a serious abuse of hospitality. They tell me you were carried home utterly incapable.”
“I was, sir,” Robert admitted again.
“Hadn’t Hannah something to say about that?” the vicar inquired, repressing an inclination to smile. His knowledge of the power and quality of Mrs Robert’s eloquence on these occasions suggested that further reprimanding on his side was superfluous.
Robert slowly stroked his beard and looked, the vicar could not but observe, pleasantly reminiscent.
“I expect she ’ad, sir,” he said. “But, thank God! I was too far gone to bear aught ’er said. Daresay she talked all night, too; she generally does.”