The old cognac went down at a swallow. Everyone smacked their lips except O. D. He busied himself brushing away two big tears that filled his eyes.
“Bon,” grunted the Frenchman.
“Ah, oui,” answered Jimmy, patting his stomach.
“Mangee,” said the husband. He sat down with his wife to a meal of soup, with bread floating around in it, a dish of boiled potatoes, bread, cheese, and wine.
“Want to show you something, Jimmy,” said O. D., rising and getting an envelope out of his blouse. He spread a lot of pictures in front of Jimmy.
“That’s mother, in her little rose-garden. This is Mary, always loved flowers, too. See she’s hiding behind some tall lilies, just so you can see her face.”
“Gee, I can’t tell the difference between Mary and the lilies,” interrupted Jimmy, admiringly, as he looked upon the picture of Mary’s sweet, girlish face. “Golly! it must be pippin stuff to have a sister like that.”
“Here’s some more of Mary, taken on the front stoop and one at the shore when I took her down there to go swimming one hot day.”
Jimmy was so absorbed looking at Mary’s pictures that he didn’t hear the madame’s inquisitive question.
“Fiancée, fiancée?” she asked, pointing to Mary’s photo.