just as much amused as everybody else.
'Well, the bare idea!' she cried out. 'I must speak to Pamphlett
about this! And Mary-Martha Polsue, of all women!' These were her
very words. But of course one had to say _something_ to explain to
the other innocent woman and stop her running on. So I told who you
were; and that, as everybody knew, you were a well-to-do woman, and
no doubt would feel a desire to consult your banker oftener than the
most of us."

"If you had money of your own, Cherry Oliver, you'd know how vulgar
it feels to have the thing paraded like that."

"But I haven't," said Miss Oliver cheerfully. "And, anyway, you
weren't there, and I did my best for you. . . . Well, now, I'm glad
sure enough to know _from you_ that 'tis vulgar to make much of your
wealth, and I'll remember it against the time my ship comes home.
. . . Somebody did explain--now I come to think of it--that maybe
you'd be all the more dependent on Pamphlett's advice, seein' that
you hadn't been used to handle money before you were married, and it
all came from your husband." ("There! And I don't think she'll
mention my cherry ribbon again in a hurry," thought Miss Oliver.)

After a moment's silence Mrs Polsue rallied. "I was saying that this
War didn't surprise me. The wonder to me is, the Almighty's wrath
hasn't descended on this nation long before. He must be more patient
than you or me, Charity Oliver; or else more blind, which isn't to be
supposed. Take Polpier, now. The tittle-tattle that goes about, as
you've just been admitting; and the drinking habits amongst the men--
I saw Zeb Mennear come out his doorway, not fifteen minutes since,
wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve; and him just about to
board the brake and go off to be shot by the Germans!"

"Maybe 'twas after kissin' his wife good-bye," Miss Oliver suggested.
"_I_ should!"

"There's no accounting for tastes, as you say. . . . But I've had
good reason to know for some time that they order a supply into the
house and drink when nobody is looking. I've seen the boy from the
Pilchards deliver a bottle there almost every Saturday. . . . So, the
publics being closed this morning, he can't help himself but go off
with (I dare say) a noggin of Plymouth gin for a stiffener; and
might, for all we know, be called to the presence of his Maker with
it still inside him."

"What hurries me," confessed Miss Oliver, "is the Government's being
so inconsistent.