Mrs. Stitchley continued singing; but Art and Bert and the young lady of his choice, plus the concertina, left her little or no chance.
Like a figure of retribution Mrs. Bindle stood in the doorway, hard of eye and grim of lip, whilst just behind her Mr. Hearty picked nervously at the quicks of his fingers.
The other guests had proved opportunists. They had thrown over the sacred for the profane.
They came out particularly strong in the choruses.
III
"I never remember sich a evenin', my dear," was Mrs. Stitchley's valediction. "Stitchley'll be sorry 'e missed it," she added, indifferent to the fact that he had not been invited.
She was the last to go, just as she had been the first to arrive. Throughout the evening she had applauded every effort of Art Wiggins to add to what Bindle called "the 'armony of the evenin'."
"I have enjoyed it, Mrs. Bindle," said Miss Stitchley. "It was lovely."
With these encomiums ringing in her ears, and confirmed by what she herself had seen and heard, Mrs. Bindle closed the door and returned to the kitchen.
Bindle watched her uncertainly as she tidied up the place, whilst he proceeded to arrange upon the dresser the beer-bottles, sixteen in number and all empty.