“He’s another pasty-faced un,” said one of the chief speakers. “Dicky isn’t half the man his father weer.”
“Hearken to owd Mother Cakebread,” said one of the men; “she says she’d sooner marry tawn’s poomp.”
“Here’s owd Satan comin’ to chutch,” cried a voice, as Primgeon, the lawyer, a tall, smooth-faced, sallow man, got out of the next carriage, but they cheered him well, and the guests in the next two carriages, when the cry arose—
“Here’s the Missus!”
“Gi’e the owd gell a good un, lads. Hats off.”
“Three cheers for the doctor.”
“Gie’s a ride i’ the chay, doctor.”
“Hooray.”
The cheers were hearty enough, as Purley handed out Mrs Glaire and the bride, and began to move slowly up the path, for the excitement was such that the crowd pressed forward upon them in the midst of the deafening cries, while a faint flush came upon Eve Pelly’s face, as she raised her eyes, and the icy look upon her face passed off, thawed by the sunshine of the warm greetings.
“God bless you, Miss Eve—hooray for Miss Eve!”