And still the postman was taking his time, rapping at this door, and poking papers through that; handing in letters, when he did hand them, as if he were meting out orders of execution. He was a dour, silent person, who seemed to regard letters as an unnecessary luxury, for which the recipients should be made to pay; and though during the War he had gone so far as to admit the need of the post to mothers and wives, he seemed to expect them to do without it now that the War was over. It was impossible that he should not have noticed the thrilled group of waiting women, even if he had not felt the current of excitement sweeping towards him down the street; but, for all the attention he paid them, they might not have existed. He stayed quite a long time at Mr. Baines’s office at the foot of the street, grumpily handing in document after document, and (apparently) concealing the last of them in his bag. Even the gaze of seven passionately interested females did not seem able to hurry him by a second. “Ay, he’s taking his time!” Mrs. Tanner repeated sardonically, after a short pause, and in the tenseness of the atmosphere every one of the others jumped. The electric tremors passing between them ran and raced like sunlight on flashing wires as the postman finally turned and came heading towards them. Even now, however, he seemed quite oblivious of their existence, and on a sudden impulse Mrs. James stepped out from under the feathers as if to block the way with her arms. But before anything could be said he was up to them, by them, and then unmistakably past. “Nowt for none o’ ye!” he snapped, without even turning his head, and vanished up the alley that led to the “Black Bull.” Martha Jane’s laugh led the chaos of sound into which the disgruntled Chorus broke, but, brazen though it was, it was also slightly relieved. The passing of the post left her with still another chance, still another moment in which to preen herself on her possible success. Mrs. James was asseverating—“Didn’t I say it wouldn’t be t’ post? You mark my words now!... It’ll be Mr. Baines ...” and Mrs. Tanner was chirping—“Did you ever see such manners? He might ha’ given us a word!” with the twittering anger of a furious wren. Mrs. Clapham said nothing, but her mouth dropped at the corners like that of a disappointed child, and behind her Emma lifted her arms and folded them slowly again across her waist.... “I always said he’d bring it himself!” Mrs. James’s voice was happy and high. “Not because of the stamp and suchlike rubbish—Mr. Baines ain’t the sort to stick at a stamp—but because he’s a gentleman and likes everything just so. Folks can’t be more than gentlemen, nohow,” she finished, glaring at Martha Jane, “even if they do happen to be lordships an’ all!” The flaw in the last sentence passed Martha Jane by, but she was ready for battle, nevertheless.