"You're very funny," she said gently--"You're very quaint. Do you think you'll find the sense of humour again?"
"I've found it," said John.
"Already?"
"Yes--already." One eye lifted to St. Anthony.
Then he told her about the hawker and that rare, that valuable coin--the English penny--and in two minutes, they were laughing with their heads in their hands.
This is not a reverent thing to do in a church. The least that you can offer, is to hide your face, or, turning quickly to the burial service in the prayer-book--granted that you understand Latin--read that. Failing that of burial, the service of matrimony will do just as well.
But before the image of St. Anthony, to whom you have been praying for a lost gift of laughter--well, you may be sure that St. Anthony will excuse it. After all, it is only a compliment to his powers; and the quality of saintliness, being nothing without its relation to humanity, must surely argue some little weakness somewhere. What better then than the pride that is pardonable?
At length, when she had answered all his questions, when he had answered all hers, they rose reluctantly to their feet.
"I must go back to them," she said regretfully.
"But I shall see you again?"