The commercial traveller was inept enough to offer a jocular reply, and then he found himself involved in the morass of ’the whole question’.  He, and we also, were obliged to hear in immense detail Miss Annie Brett’s complete notions of the movement for the abolition of barmaids.  The subject was heavy on her mind, and she lifted it off.  Simon Fuge was relinquished; he dropped like a stone into the pool of forgetfulness.  And yet, strange as it seems, she was assuredly not sincere in the expression of her views on the question of barmaids.  She held no real views.  She merely persuaded herself that she held them.  When the commercial traveller, who was devoid of sense, pointed out that it was not proposed to rob anybody of a livelihood, and that existent barmaids would be permitted to continue to grace the counters of their adoption, she grew frostily vicious.  The commercial traveller decided to retire and play billiards.  Mr Brindley and I in our turn departed.  I was extremely disappointed by this sequel.

‘Ah!’ breathed Mr Brindley when we were outside, in front of the Town Hall.  ‘She was quite right about that clock.’

After that we turned silently into a long illuminated street which rose gently.  The boxes of light were flashing up and down it, but otherwise it seemed to be quite deserted.  Mr Brindley filled a pipe and lit it as he walked.  The way in which that man kept the match alight in a fresh breeze made me envious.  I could conceive myself rivalling his exploits in cigarette-making, the purchase of rare books, the interpretation of music, even (for a wager) the drinking of beer, but I knew that I should never be able to keep a match alight in a breeze.  He threw the match into the mud, and in the mud it continued miraculously to burn with a large flame, as though still under his magic dominion.  There are some things that baffle the reasoning faculty.  ‘Well,’ I said, ’she must have been a pretty woman once.’

‘"Pretty,” by God!’ he replied, ’she was beautiful.  She was considered the finest piece in Hanbridge at one time.  And let me tell you we’re supposed to have more than our share of good looks in the Five Towns.’

‘What—­the women, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she never married?’

‘No.’

‘Nor—­anything?’

‘Oh no,’ he said carelessly.

‘But you don’t mean to tell me she’s never—­’ I was just going to exclaim, but I did not, I said:  ’And it’s her sister who is Mrs Colclough?’

‘Yes.’  He seemed to be either meditative or disinclined to talk.  However, my friends have sometimes hinted to me that when my curiosity is really aroused, I am capable of indiscretions.

’So one sister rattles about in an expensive motor-car, and the other serves behind a bar!’ I observed.

He glanced at me.