When finally the baffled Dame Marigold got up to go, the old woman cried shrilly: ‘Now, ma’am, remember, not a word of this to the master! He was never one that could stand being worried. He’s like his father in that. My old mistress used often to say to me, “Now, Polly, we won’t tell the master. He can’t stand worry.” Aye, all the Chanticleers are wonderful sensitive.’ And the unexpressed converse of this last statement was, ‘All the Vigils, on the other hand, have the hides of buffaloes.’
