“After a storm there comes a calm, after a funeral, why not a wedding?” said the lady who had previously suggested the futility of endless weeping.
“That’s not the sort of conversation for a Nine-Night,” primly suggested Susan. “I will never marry again, an’ so what y’u say don’t concern me; but still, this is not the time to talk about weddings.”
“I don’t know dat I agrees wid Sue,” said her father. “Mister Mac is dead, an’ if Mister Jones write me for y’u, I——”
But the old man, doomed it would appear to perpetual interruptions, was not allowed to complete his remark. Miss Proudleigh felt that the limits of decorum were in danger of being overstepped. She immediately and loudly began to tell of an arrest she had witnessed a day or two before in Colon, an arrest which had almost caused the death of the prisoner, he having been unmercifully clubbed by the policemen. This was an interesting topic of conversation, and while the company were discussing the demerits of the Republic’s peace officers, Jones quietly suggested to Susan that they might go and sit together for a little while on the veranda.
She agreed, and they went out, remarked by all. But such pairings-off were customary; it was felt, moreover, that the widow had the right to do as she pleased, on account of her youth and her superior financial position.
She and Samuel sat on the chairs they took out with them, and, leaning over the veranda, looked down into the silent street. They had placed themselves where they could not easily be seen by the people in the room, though the door stood open. After a few seconds Jones stretched out his hand and placed it on Susan’s shoulder. “Sue,” he whispered, “when you going to Jamaica?”
“To-morrow. Don’t you know it already?”
“I am going with you.”
“I can’t stop y’u, Sam. The ship is for you as well as for me.”
“Stop that foolishness, Sue. It is all very well when you makin’ fun to talk like that. But now I am talking in the Predicate and in the verb To Be; I am serious. I am going to marry you.”