"Oh, turtle doves, turtle doves!" exclaimed Maxwell, hooking his arm in mine, as we walked along. "Oh, golden day, with love's fetters binding one fast! Auspicious epoch in a man's career when he is strung up for life! Love, honor, and obey, and all that sort of thing. Connubial bliss, Darby and Joan, till death doth us part. Not for me, my boy, not for me; but every man to his taste. Fol-de-riddle! Chorus of infatuated bridegrooms—fol-de-riddle, fol-de-riddle!"
"Hold your tongue," I said, between my teeth, "or I'll not stay with you another moment."
"Right you are, my sensitive plant," he returned. "I'm mum as the inside of a screwed down coffin."
But he continued to sing softly to himself, and to chuckle as he cast furtive glances at me. In such circumstances it was not likely that I could enjoy my meal, and I sat for the most part doing nothing, while Maxwell disposed of the various courses he ordered. Drinking did not affect his appetite, and he would have kept at the table all the day had I not called for the bill.
"Time to go, eh? Love's call must be obeyed," he said, rising, and pouring out the last glass of wine in the bottle. With his left hand on the table he steadied himself, and held up the glass.
"You're not half a bad sort, John, but you're a bit soft. You want hardening, my boy, and you'll get it."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"What do I mean? Why, that Barbara's all your own now, all your own. Well, here's a happy honeymoon to the fond couple." He drained the glass.
I hardly knew how to take his words, and I did not answer him. On our way back he borrowed twenty pounds of me, and I determined it should be the last he would ever get from me. I was strongly inclined at first to refuse, but I was afraid he would make a scene, and so for Barbara's sake I gave him the money.
"Thank you, John," he said, pocketing the notes. "You're a trump, but a trifle green. Here we are at the house. What a jolly wedding-day!"