Whatever might have been the opinions of the lady addressed, she diplomatically concealed them behind a veil of impatience.
“What happened then?” she asked.
“Well, before going to the table, we two stood up in front of Mr. Webster, and he married us. Then we sat down just as if nothing had happened. I was that scared, though, lest somebody should come in before we got to our victuals, that I kept my eye out the window all the time.”
“What did you have on?” inquired Miss Cockerill. “You didn’t have much time to get things made.”
“No, I didn’t want to, being in mourning you know. And that Hannah Lee never could hold her tongue, anyway! So I just wore my grey silk, and Jonas said we’d get whatever else we wanted when we were away.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Miss Cockerill. “And then?”
“And then Mr. and Mrs. Webster went away, carrying my bag with the few things I needed, and Jonas went back to the hotel, and I stayed and did up the dishes.”
“What was all that for?” queried Miss Cockerill. “I should think Jonas might ha’ stayed with his own wife.”
“No, I didn’t want he should. People might have thought it strange if they’d come in. And the Websters took my bag because they were going to be in their team down at the end of the garden lot, and I was going out as if to pick chrysanthemums, and they were going to ask me to take a ride with them.”
“Why in the world did you have them there?” demanded the intrepid Susan.