“Banns up yet for the wedding?” inquired Mr. Smith, still gazing in front of him with fathomless eyes.
“They'll be put up next week,” said Mr. Kybird.
“Ah!” said his friend, with great emphasis. “Well, well!”
“Wot d'ye mean by 'well, well'?” demanded the other, with some heat.
“I was on'y thinking,” replied Mr. Smith, mildly. “P'r'aps it's all for the best, and I'd better 'old my tongue. True love is better than money. After all it ain't my bisness, and I shouldn't get much out of it.”
“Out of wot, Nat?” inquired Mr. Kybird, uneasily.
Mr. Smith, still gazing musingly before him, appeared not to hear the question. “Nice after the rain, ain't it?” he said, slowly.
“It's all right,” said the other, shortly.
“Everything smells so fresh and sweet,” continued his nature-loving friend; “all the little dickey-birds was a-singing as if their little 'arts would break as I come along.”
“I don't wonder at it,” said the offended Mr. Kybird.