“It ain’t modest to speak o’ them sort of things aloud,” said Mrs Jones, in a hushed voice to the spinster. “Don’t let yer feelin’s get the better of yer, Mary Ann—you’re disappointed, but keep it dark, for the sake of feminine modesty. Well, Mr Lynn, we’re proud to come and meet this young gel what is soon to be yer wife. Have she come yet? Or are you looking for ’er over the brow of the ’ill, that you keep your eye fixed on that one pint so constant?”
“She ain’t come, but I’m expectin’ of her every minute,” said Silas. “I’m real proud to welcome yer, neighbours. Come in, come in. My aunt, Mrs Royal, is in the house a-brewing the tea. Come in, neighbours, and make yerselves at home.”
Mr and Mrs Hibberty Jones and Miss Hatton stepped immediately across the threshold, but old Mr Peters stood still, and put one of his wrinkled hands, with marked solemnity, on Silas Lynn’s shoulder.
“Wanity of wanity, Silas,” he said in a mournful tone. “I didn’t think as you’d have been tuk in by a bit of a gel to the extent of wearin’ a flowered waistcoat. You has had a sudden fall, Silas.”
“Go right into the house, Mr Peters,” said Silas. “There Jill a-coming down the field. You look at her, and tell me arterwards ef you think she wor worthy of a sprigged waistcoat or not.”
When Jill and Silas entered the little cottage side by side, the rest of the visitors were seated in some impatience round the tea-table. The board was well supplied with a large brown cake in the centre, a freshly cooked ham at one end, and the tea equipage, containing the delicate white and gold tea-service, at the other. Bread in great junks, hot cake, butter in several fancy devices, and a large dish of honey completed the repast.
Hibberty Jones had placed himself as near that end of the table where the ham stood as possible. Miss Hatton sat pensively where she could keep control of the honey, and Mrs Hibberty Jones made up her mind that she would act as cutler of the cake.
When Silas and Jill entered the whole company arose, and each in turn offered a cold handshake to the London flower girl. Room was made for her to sit down beside Silas at the end of the board, and Aunt Hannah, with a loud “a-hem,” lifted the teapot to dispense the tea.
“May I ask, Mrs Jones,” she inquired, “’ow you like your tea sarved, or ef you has no wishes on the subjec’? Some folk ain’t particular, but it’s best to know.”
“I ain’t what’s called particular,” said Mrs Jones.