church shockingly ashamed of themselves, because of a storm of mirth
during the sermon. The vicar, it seems, had tried to blow his nose
with a black glove as well as the customary pocket-handkerchief. And
afterwards she had picked up her own glove by the finger, and looking
innocently but intently sideways, had suddenly by this simple expedient
exploded my uncle altogether. We had it all over again at dinner.

"But it shows you," cried my uncle, suddenly becoming grave, "what
Wimblehurst is, to have us all laughing at a little thing like that! We
weren't the only ones that giggled. Not by any means! And, Lord! it was
funny!"

Socially, my uncle and aunt were almost completely isolated. In places
like Wimblehurst the tradesmen's lives always are isolated socially,
all of them, unless they have a sister or a bosom friend among the
other wives, but the husbands met in various bar-parlours or in the
billiard-room of the Eastry Arms. But my uncle, for the most part, spent
his evenings at home. When first he arrived in Wimblehurst I think
he had spread his effect of abounding ideas and enterprise rather
too aggressively; and Wimblehurst, after a temporary subjugation, had
rebelled and done its best to make a butt of him. His appearance in a
public-house led to a pause in any conversation that was going on.

"Come to tell us about everything, Mr. Pond'revo?" some one would say
politely.

"You wait," my uncle used to answer, disconcerted, and sulk for the rest
of his visit.

Or some one with an immense air of innocence would remark to the world