The sale of the Mericarp estate had a particular interest for respectable stake-in-the-town persons.  It would indicate to what extent, if at all, ‘this football’ was ruining Bursley.  Constance mentioned to Cyril that she fancied she might like to go to the sale, and as it was dated for one of Cyril’s off-nights Cyril said that he fancied he might like to go too.  So they went together; Samuel used to attend property sales, but he had never taken his wife to one.  Constance and Cyril arrived at the Tiger shortly after seven o’clock, and were directed to a room furnished and arranged as for a small public meeting of philanthropists.  A few gentlemen were already present, but not the instigating trustees, solicitors, and auctioneers.  It appeared that ’six-thirty for seven o’clock precisely’ meant seven-fifteen.  Constance took a Windsor chair in the corner nearest the door, and motioned Cyril to the next chair; they dared not speak; they moved on tiptoe; Cyril inadvertently dragged his chair along the floor, and produced a scrunching sound; he blushed, as though he had desecrated a church, and his mother made a gesture of horror.  The remainder of the company glanced at the corner, apparently pained by this negligence.  Some of them greeted Constance, but self-consciously, with a sort of shamed air; it might have been that they had all nefariously gathered together there for the committing of a crime.  Fortunately Constance’s widowhood had already lost its touching novelty, so that the greetings, if self-conscious, were at any rate given without unendurable commiseration and did not cause awkwardness.

When the official world arrived, fussy, bustling, bearing documents and a hammer, the general feeling of guilty shame was intensified.  Useless for the auctioneer to try to dissipate the gloom by means of bright gestures and quick, cheerful remarks to his supporters!  Cyril had an idea that the meeting would open with a hymn, until the apparition of a tapster with wine showed him his error.  The auctioneer very particularly enjoined the tapster to see to it that no one lacked for his thirst, and the tapster became self-consciously energetic.  He began by choosing Constance for service.  In refusing wine, she blushed; then the fellow offered a glass to Cyril, who went scarlet, and mumbled ‘No’ with a lump in his throat; when the tapster’s back was turned, he smiled sheepishly at his mother.  The majority of the company accepted and sipped.  The auctioneer sipped and loudly smacked, and said:  “Ah!”

Mr. Critchlow came in.

And the auctioneer said again:  “Ah!  I’m always glad when the tenants come.  That’s always a good sign.”

He glanced round for approval of this sentiment.  But everybody seemed too stiff to move.  Even the auctioneer was self-conscious.

“Waiter!  Offer wine to Mr. Critchlow!” he exclaimed bullyingly, as if saying:  “Man! what on earth are you thinking of, to neglect Mr. Critchlow?”