“Why, Paul—don’t you know? It’s Elise—Elise’s wedding. And what do you think? There’s another Winkler after all—Oh, you’ve got to come in, Paul—”
“No; Janey—I can’t,” he repeated firmly. “I’ll come back again some day, as I promised—but not now. I can’t do it now. I only stopped to look in—I’m on my way down to Riverbury—there’s a fellow down there who says he has some work for me, if I want to come. I—I just stopped to peek in, thinking that perhaps I’d see you all sitting around the fire. A fine wedding guest I’d make,” he added laughing. “I’d be a worse mortification to Uncle Peter than ever I was. No, Janey, I can’t. Walk in there like this? The black sheep of the family coming in like a vagabond at the wedding feast?”
Indeed, he was shabby enough—and in his laugh was a tell-tale note of something like shame. It stung his pride not a little to have even Janey see the plain evidences of the rather unsuccessful struggle he had been waging with circumstances. He wore the same old seaman’s cap, the same old short, thick jacket—but frayed edges, patches, and empty buttonholes did not escape Janey’s eyes, and he knew it, and tried to draw out of the light. He was much thinner too, and even a trifle taller, so that his garments, which had never fitted him kindly were now still looser in the places where they had once been much too loose and tighter where they had once been much too tight. He felt also that the light showed only too plainly the traces that actual hunger had drawn in his face, and of these he was more ashamed than of his clothes.
“You mustn’t stand out here, Janey—you’re shivering in that thin dress. And I must say good-bye—you’ve left the door open, and here come some people.”
Janey glanced over her shoulder. Through the door from the hall, her father was entering the dining room, with Elise, followed by Hyacinth and Aunt Gertrude, and then the remaining guests. The ceremony of solemnly drinking the bride’s health was about to take place. Granny sat at the head of the table.
“How lovely Elise looks,” said Paul, “and how nice it is to see them all. There’s Mrs. Deacon—and Lily and Mr. Sheridan—and there’s my friend, Amelia. Is that fellow with the beard the bridegroom?”
“That’s Hyacinth. And he’s a Winkler—a real true Winkler, Paul. I found him.”
“Did you?” said Paul, laughing, “I’m not surprised.”
“Only I didn’t know he was a Winkler—so it doesn’t count—”
“Here comes Uncle Peter! He’s seen you, Janey. Good-bye, dear.” But she held both his hands tightly.