The vicar was saying good-bye to Mrs. Robson.
"Well, a most satisfactory evening. I think I can congratulate you on a really successful evening. Fifty-six multiplied by two shillings—let me see. Very good indeed, very. What should we do without her, eh, Coast?"
Coast had already done his duty to Mrs. Robson. Before she presented the prizes he had praised her many virtues in a masterly speech. He had said enough.
A little hammer of hot iron seemed to be thumping at his right temple with maddening regularity.
"You look tired, Mrs. Robson," said the vicar. "Mustn't do too much. We can't afford to have you ill, you know—can't afford it, can we, Mr. Coast?"
"Oh, I'm all right," said Mary wearily. "I've been rather off colour the last few days. It's nothing—indigestion I expect, and the warmer weather."
She began to gather up her coat and scarf from the chair beside her. The vicar groped clumsily for them.
"Let me help. Mr. Coast, those are Mrs. Robson's gloves over there I believe, if you don't mind."
"I'm sorry. I have to clear the room. Got to hurry up."
Really, if he had to fetch and carry for the woman!