“Quite a bargain, wasn’t it?” he heard the first lady say.
It was all he could do to repress a bitter and scornful “Huh!”
They returned—evidently with the coat.
“Thank you so much, dear,” said the highly-coloured lady, “it’s just what I wanted and so smart. What was it like at the Fête...?” she was trying on the coat and examining herself smilingly in the overmantel mirror. “I must say it does suit me.”
“Oh, very dull,” said the first lady. “I really came away before it was actually opened. Just got what I wanted and then came away. It all looked as if it was going to be most dull.”
The highly-coloured lady sniffed and her complacency gave way to aggrievement. “I must say that I was a bit hurt that they didn’t ask me to give an entertainment. I can’t help feeling that it was a bit of a slight. People have so often told me that no function about here is complete without one of my entertainments and then not to ask me to entertain at the Conservative fête ... well, I call it pointed, and it points to one thing and one thing only in my eyes. It points to jealousy, and intrigue, and spitefulness, and underhandedness, and cunning, and deceit on the part of some person or persons unknown—but, believe me, Mrs. Bute, quite easily guessed at!”
The highly-coloured lady was evidently in the state known as “working herself up.” Suddenly William knew who she was. She must be Miss Poll. He remembered now hearing his mother say only yesterday, “That dreadful Poll woman wants to give an entertainment at the Fête and we’re determined not to have her. She’s so vulgar. She’d cheapen the whole thing....”
He peeped at her anxiously from behind his concealing table-cloth, then hastily withdrew.
“Of course,” said Mrs Bute, who sounded bored and as if she’d heard it many times before, “of course, dear, but ... the coat will do, will it ?”
“Very nicely, thank you,” said Miss Poll rather stiffly because she thought that Mrs. Bute really ought to have been more sympathetic. “Good afternoon, dear.”