"Costs the same? ... for two as for one?"
"Certainly," I replied.
"Taken separate, like?" he continued.
"No, if taken separately the cost would be doubled, but on wedding occasions the bride and bridegroom are almost invariably photographed together, and that involves no extra cost."
He thought this over for half a minute and then made up his mind definitely.
"I'll be taken by myself," he said, "... to match this 'ere."—He drew from his breast-pocket a rather faded photograph, cabinet size, which displayed a younger Mrs. Robertshaw in the fashion of a dozen years before.—"Maria got these ... just afore Robertsha' died ... has best part of a dozen on 'em .... gave Robertsha' 's away ... pity to waste these ... 'll do nicely."
"But Mr. Higgins," I protested, "these photographs are faded, and they are not the Mrs. Higgins of to-day. Nobody wears that style of dress now, and she has actually a fringe! Throw them away, and do as I propose."
"I see nowt wrong wi' 't," he replied, examining it critically. "She's fatter now, an' isn't as good lookin' ... more wrinkles, like.... Makes a nicer pictur, this does ... plenty good enough for 'er."
"Mr. Higgins!" I exclaimed indignantly.
"If—you—please—miss," he said emphatically, "it's me as gives the order ... one dozen, miss ... to match this 'ere."