They were half through with it when Mrs. Winnie accepted a nod from John Gore and pushed back her chair, and picking up a wedding-favor from under a mug on the dresser, she went to her man and held it under his nose.
Mr. Jennifer stared at the gilded sprigs and the ribbons very gravely.
“I dunno as I be a widower yet,” he said, as his slow brain took in the nature of the thing, “nor be you a widow, Winnie.”
“Oh, you thick-head, Chris!”
Mr. Jennifer looked at her, and then, with a sudden gleam of the eyes, at John Gore and the lady.
“Be that so, my dear?”
“Surely,” said Mrs. Winnie, in a whisper.
Then Mr. Jennifer laid a hand to his mug, rose slowly and solemnly, and stared hard at the bride and bridegroom.
“Ut be a pleasure—”
He paused and reconsidered the beginning.