The great surgeon was at his surliest.
Mrs. Pigott noted it at once, and of course must take advantage.
"Do you like weddings, Mr. Trupp?" she asked brightly.
"Call it a wedding!" growled the other. "I call it a funeral. It's the end of a good man. He'll go to pieces now he's got all he wants. No: if you want to get the most out of a man, keep him asking. Once he's sated he's done.... What does Mrs. Pigott say?"
Mrs. Pigott said:
"Bob the cherry near his lips, but don't let him gobble it." The young woman gave a bird-like toss of her head and threw a teasing glance at her husband. "Bob the cherry. That's it."
When the car swung off the road at the foot of the village into Parson's Tye, Mr. Trupp was in more sober mood.
As the other three crossed the green to the church, he lingered behind.
"Comin in then, Alf?" he asked.
The chauffeur shook his head.