Ralph said, “I honestly think it would be better if you forgot all about it. Honestly.”

“But you don’t deny?”

He hesitated, began to speak and checked himself.

“All right,” he said. “I certainly don’t deny that a very short, very simple and not, I’m sure, at all important sort of dance-play is kept up once a year in Mardian. It is. We just happen to have gone on doing it.”

“Ach, blessed Saint Use-and-Wont.”

“Er — yes. But we have been rather careful not to sort of let it be known because everyone agrees it’d be too ghastly if the artsy-craftsy boys — I’m sure,” Ralph said turning scarlet, “I don’t mean to be offensive, but you know what can happen. Ye olde goings-on all over the village. Charabancs even. My family have all felt awfully strongly about it and so does the Old Guiser.”

Mrs. Bünz pressed her gloved hands to her lips. “Did you, did you say ‘Old Guiser’?”

“Sorry. It’s a sort of nickname. He’s William Andersen, really. The local smith. A perfectly marvellous old boy,” Ralph said and inexplicably again turned scarlet. “They’ve been at the Copse Smithy for centuries, the Andersens,” he added. “As long as we’ve been at Mardian, if it comes to that. He feels jolly strongly about it.”

“The old man? The Guiser?” Mrs. Bünz murmured. “And he’s a smith? And his forefathers perhaps made the hobby-horse?” Ralph was uncomfortable.

“Well —” he said and stopped.

“Ach! Then there is a hobby!”

“Look, Mrs. Burns, I–I do ask you as a great favour not to talk about this to anyone, or — or write about it. And for the love of Mike not to bring people here. I don’t mind telling you I’m in pretty bad odour with my aunt and old William and, really, if they thought — look, I think I can hear Dulcie coming. Look, may I really beg you —”