“I am preparing for the wedding,” she say back. “No wedding can look fashionable without a few weeps.”
Each morning Hon. Gladys Scott stand up with dressmaker and report with angry rage of girlish soprano, “You make me so nervus that screaming would seem pleasant!” Yet a few moments later she meet Hon. Chas Sweetberry in parlour & report with kitten words, “O Chas, I am so happy!”
My brain feel cross-eyed to hear this duplex conversation.
Friday night Hon. Tortoni, Italian caterman, back-up horse to front lawn and dump forth sifficient camp-chairs to furnish 1 complete picnic. Hon. Chas Sweetberry & 1 clergy man come later. They meet that Scott family, including Hon. Gladys, in parlour where they lock door and say a long ceremony, walking around & giving away several times.
When Hon. Sweetberry come outside to smoke cigaret, I say to him with banzai in my voice,
“Congratulations, Mr Sir!”
“For what?” he dib.
“For your marriage which just took place,” I encroach.
“That wasn’t marriage,” he snork. “We was just practising.”
I was confused.