The reasons for this change were indefinite—­on the whole, no doubt, it was because people liked her better.  They had grown used to her at Ansdore, where at first her mastership had shocked them; the scandal and contempt aroused by the Socknersh episode were definitely dead, and men took off their hats to the strenuousness with which she had pulled the farm together, and faced a crisis that would have meant disaster to many of her neighbours.  Ansdore was one of the largest farms of the district, and it was absurd that it should never be represented at the Woolpack table merely on the ground that its master was a woman.

Of course many women wondered how Joanna could face such a company of males, and suggestions were made for admitting farmers’ wives on this occasion.  But Joanna was not afraid, and when approached as to whether she would like other women invited, or to bring a woman friend, she declared that she would be quite satisfied with the inevitable presence of the landlord’s wife.

She realized that she would be far more imposing as the only woman guest, and made great preparations for a proper display.  Among these was included the buying of a new gown at Folkestone.  She thought that Folkestone, being a port for the channel steamers, would be more likely to have the latest French fashions than the nearer towns of Bulverhythe and Marlingate.  My I But she would make the Farmers’ Club sit up.

The dressmaker at Folkestone tried to persuade her not to have her sleeves lengthened or an extra fold of lace arranged along the top of her bodice.

“Madam has such a lovely neck and arms—­it’s a pity to cover them up—­and it spoils the character of the gown.  Besides, madam, this gown is not at all extreme—­demi-toilet is what it really is.”

“I tell you it won’t do—­I’m going to dine alone with several gentlemen, and it wouldn’t be seemly to show such a lot of myself.”

It ended, to the dressmaker’s despair, in her draping her shoulders in a lace scarf and wearing kid gloves to her elbow; but though these pruderies might have spoilt her appearance at Dungemarsh Court, there was no doubt as to its effectiveness at the Woolpack.  The whole room held its breath as she sailed in, with a rustle of amber silk skirts.  Her hair was piled high against a tortoise-shell comb, making her statelier still.

Furnese of Misleham, who was chairman that year, came gaping to greet her.  The others stared and stood still.  Most of them were shocked, in spite of the scarf and the long gloves, but then it was just like Joanna Godden to swing bravely through an occasion into which most women would have crept.  She saw that she had made a sensation, which she had expected and desired, and her physical modesty being appeased, she had no objection to the men’s following eyes.  She saw that Sir Harry Trevor was in the room, with his son Martin.