“Rather! You don’t mean it’s—— Oh! Joey, you darling!” It was an immense bouquet of the old-fashioned kind, and it was tied with long, streaming ribbons of white satin. “I told ’em not to stint the ribbing. I said my little gal don’t get married hevery day. Well, my dear, how does it agree with you?”
“Oh, fine!” she laughed, using a little brush to darken her eyelashes. “Wasn’t you surprised when you saw it in the papers?”
“No,” said the man, still blinking, “not exsakerly surprised. I always said you was fit to be a princess. I see you’re at the Royal this week? Best advertisement you hever ’ad, my girl.”
“And I don’t forget I owe it all to you,” she said earnestly, leaving off with one eyelash blacked. “Yes,” turning to Claudia, who did not feel left out in the cold, because Fay took it for granted that she was interested in this queer, common man who had come in, “he got me my first engagement, and I don’t forget it.”
“Oh, go on! it was nothing.”
“Well, I shall never make light of it,” she said, with a vigorous nod of her small head, now entirely over-weighted with the curls she had pinned on. They spoilt the shape of her head and stuck out in masses about her ears. Fay went on quickly with the making-up process. “You gave me a shove here and a shove there, and now I’ve got into high society, I don’t forget those who helped me. I’m going to give a dinner to celebrate the wedding—you must come”—nodding friendly-wise to Claudia—“and so must you and your missus, Joey.”
“It’s kind of you, Fay, but I’ll be up north for the next month.” He looked at a large gold watch, the chain of which meandered over a waistcoat of startling pattern. “Can’t stay many minutes. Got to get down to Reading to-night. Came up a purpose to bring you the turnip.”
“You’re a duck, Joey. Polly! Polly! Bring in a bottle of fizz. Sharp’s the word! Yes, Joey, it’s a special occasion and I’d like her to have some too. You know”—speaking to both of them—“I never take nothing until after I’ve done my work, unless it’s a glass of stout, but Joey’s got to drink me a proper health. Come on, Polly, bring a glass for yourself.”
“Hallo, Polly!” said Joey, “still ginger, eh? My, we’re getting on in the world, ain’t we? You fancy yourself, waiting on the wife of a capting, don’t yer? I’ll do that for yer. You hold the glass.”
“It’s the best fizz,” said Fay, who was now putting the rouge thickly on her cheeks. “It costs ten shillings a bottle and that’s wholesale price too. I know a man—do you know Sam Levy? He’s got an interest in a champagne business, or something. Anyway, I told him to get me some of the best. Jack says it’s too sweet, but I like it that way. The other stuff tastes like ginger-ale. When I have fizz I like to know it’s fizz. But there”—she turned to Claudia, who at half-past six in the evening somehow found herself holding a glass of champagne—“I suppose you drink champagne every night of your life, don’t you?”