Here the vicar rescued her.
The vicar had not quite made up his mind whether to be jocular or condoling.
“A splendid attendance, isn’t it, your Grace? There’s a little thing I want to——” The vicar’s wife tactfully glided away. “Of course, we all understand—you’re not responsible—and, on our honour, we aren’t—quite an accident—the guilty party, however, shall be found. I assure you he shall—er—shall be found.”
“Would you mind,” said his Grace patiently, “telling me of what you are talking?”
The vicar drew a deep breath, then took the plunge.
“There’s a small placard on your back,” he said. “Well, not small—that is—allow me——”
His Grace hastily felt behind, secured the placard, tore it off, put on his tortoise-shell spectacles, and examined it at arm’s length. Then he turned to the vicar, who was mopping his brow. The committee were trembling in the background. One of them—Miss Spence by name—had already succumbed to a nervous breakdown and had had to go home. Another was having hysterics in the tent.
“How long exactly,” asked his Grace slowly, “have I been wearing this?”
The vicar smiled mirthlessly, and put up a hand nervously as if to loosen his collar.
“Er—quite a matter of minutes—ahem—of minutes one might say, your Grace, since—ah—ahem—since the opening, one might almost put it——”