"I was, sir," Robert admitted, unabashed. When an unpleasant situation had to be faced he liked to face it and get it over. Usually on these occasions he carried matters to a triumphant finish and got as much satisfaction out of them as tribulation. When a thing is done, it's done, was Robert's philosophy; no use grizzling over it. "I am ashamed of you," the vicar said. "Your conduct was a serious abuse of hospitality. They tell me you were carried home utterly incapable." "I was, sir," Robert admitted again. "Hadn't Hannah something to say about that?" the vicar inquired, repressing an inclination to smile. His knowledge of the power and quality of Mrs Robert's eloquence on these occasions suggested that further reprimanding on his side was superfluous. Robert slowly stroked his beard and looked, the vicar could not but observe, pleasantly reminiscent. "I expect she 'ad, sir," he said. "But, thank God! I was too far gone to bear aught 'er said. Daresay she talked all night, too; she generally does." Robert seized the vicar's overcoat and helped him into it, and, with unusual solicitude for his health, inquired if he had not thought of wearing a muffler. "The cold's cruel," he said. "You ought to take care o' yer throat. Think o' the disappointment if you was laid by, and couldn't preach." "I wish," the vicar observed drily, "that you would study your own constitution as carefully." "That's all right, sir," Robert answered, wilfully misunderstanding. "I allays wears a old muffler when the weather's sharp." He handed the vicar his hat, performing these supererogatory offices with the patronising air of a man humouring his superior's peculiarities. "Milk punch they said it was," he muttered in the form of a soliloquy. "I thought a babby could 'a' swallowed it. Milk don't digest, I reckon, in a stummick come to my age. But 'twas pretty drinking, howsomever." So much, the vicar mused, for Robert's repentance. It were as profitable to rebuke the weather for inclemency as Robert for his sins.