Directly he came in, the atmosphere of bustling cheerfulness deserted the room.
Mary turned to him with strained affability.
"Well, Mr. Coast, don't you think we're doing rather well?"
She knew he disliked her. She knew he remembered that day three years ago, when she had seen him strike Ronnie Peel in a fit of exasperation and had turned upon him with an outburst of righteous indignation. And then the testimonial. He had been told about that of course by one of those kind friends who prove their loyalty by revealing other people's nastiness.
But she was acutely troubled because somebody disliked her. Even if she was not exactly fond of Coast, that was no reason why Coast should not like her.
"I bought these blue balls in Hardrascliffe," she said, holding out a box. "Don't you think they're rather pretty, Mr. Coast? We broke such a lot last year, and this is a nice big tree."
"Very kind I'm sure, Mrs. Robson, but we had already bought some new ornaments with the Christmas Tree Fund."
"Oh I know, but there's no harm in having a few left over. Is there, Mr. Slater?" When Mary felt opposition from one quarter, she always tried to strengthen her position by approval from another.
"Well, really they are very pretty—very nice—yes—quite. Ha, Mr. Coast, ha?"
"It was very nice I'm sure, Ernie," interposed Mrs. Coast tremulously. "They'll do beautifully. I'm sure I was wondering how we were going to get all those top branches covered. I do hate a tree to look bare."