“And there you are.”
“Sophronia, you ’ave not treated me right.”
“I ’ave not, Samuel Bilson,” Miss Huckins cheerfully assented; “I might ’ave known as you was not fit to take care of yourself. But I mean to do my dooty now, so will you ’ave the kindness to button your clo’es at the neck, and sit up?”
Mr. Bilson mechanically fastened the neck-band of his night-shirt and raised himself to the sitting posture.
“Mrs. Huckins,” Mr. Chizzy interrupted, in an uncertain way; “I didn’t understand—you did not tell me—there does not appear to have been the usual preliminary arrangement for this most sacred and solemn ceremony.”
Sophronia turned on him with scorn in her voice and bearing.
“Do I understand, sir, as you find yourself in a ’urry?”
“I am not in a hurry—oh, no. But—dear me, you know, I can’t perform the ceremony under these circumstances.”
Miss Huckins grew more profoundly scornful.
“Do you know any himpediment w’y we should not be lawfully joined together in matrimony?”