The tea was lukewarm and undrinkable, the bread and butter was thick and so uninviting that both ladies were sure it was margarine, but after a moment's hesitation in which she felt the stern eye of Josiah upon her, the heroic Gerty dexterously removed one white glove and came to grips with a plate of buttered buns. In the buns were undeniable currants, and their genial presence enabled Gerty to make a spirited bluff at consuming them. Where Gerty walked, Maria must not fear to tread. The ladies got somehow through their second tea and then they were haled into the open, past the bandstand and through the crowd surrounding it, to the large tent containing the exhibits. Here, in a select corner, draped with festoons of red cloth, were the prizes which Maria, half an hour hence, would be called upon to distribute with her own white-gloved hands to the victorious competitors. The heat in the tent being unbearable the President's party had it to themselves. Therefore Maria's audible groan at the sight of the task before her was heard by none save her lord. "Bear up, Mother," Josiah's tone was a highly judicious blend of sternness, banter and persuasion. "It's not as if you had to make a speech, you know. And if you did have there's nobody here who'd bite you. I'd see to that." This was encouraging, yet certain gyrations of the black and white parasol betrayed to the lynx-eyed Gerty the sinister presence of stage fright. "Maria," said the inexorable monitress, "you must show Spirit. Hold your sunshade as I've shown you. Keep your chin up. And try to smile." This counsel of perfection was, at the moment, clearly beyond Maria. But the President's nod approved it, and Gerty, one of those powerful spirits that loves to do with public affairs, proceeded on a flute-like note, "Dear me, what lovely prizes!" It was hyperbole to speak of the prizes as lovely, but it was, of course, the correct thing to say, and in the ear of Josiah the correct thing was said in the correct way. It would have been difficult for the duchess herself to have bettered that pure note of lofty enthusiasm. "Not so bad, Gert, are they? What do you think o' that little vawse? Presented by Coppin, the jeweler." To assess the gift of Coppin, the jeweler, it was necessary for Miss Preston to bring into action her famous tortoiseshell folders. She had no need for glasses at all. But Lawyer Mossop's aunt, the late Miss Selina Gregg, had aroused in her a passion for their use on appropriate occasions. "A ducky little vahse!" That vexed word was pronounced after the manner of the late Miss Gregg, from whose practice there was no appeal. "Not so bad--for Coppin. Better anyway than his silver-plated eggstand last year."