s and hung loosely on her wrist.
Then Pinkey clasped the string of shining beads round her thin neck,
the metallic lustre of the false gems heightening the delicate pallor
of her fine skin. The effect was superb. Ada, feeling that the bride
was eclipsed, pretended that her wedding ring was hurting her, and drew
all eyes to that badge of honour.

When they reached Cardigan Street, Mrs Yabsley went into the back room,
and returned grunting under the weight of a dozen bottles of beer in a
basket. Then, one by one, she set them in the middle of the table like
a group of ninepins. It seemed a pity to break the set, but they were
thirsty, and the pieman was not due for half an hour. A bottle was
opened with infinite precaution, but the faint plop of the cork reached
the sharp ears of Mrs Swadling, who was lounging at the end of the
lane. The unusual movements of Mrs Yabsley had roused her suspicions,
but the arrival of her husband, Sam fighting drunk for his tea, had
interrupted her observations. She was accustomed to act promptly, even
if it were only to dodge a plate, and in an instant her sharp features
were thrust past the door, left ajar for the sake of coolness.

"I thought I'd run across an' ask yer about that ironmould, on Sam's
collar," she began.

Then, surprised by the appearance of the room, dressed for a festival,
she looked around. Her eyes fell on the battalion of bottles, and she
stood thunderstruck by this extravagance. But Ada, anxious to display
her ring, was smoothing and patting her hair every few minutes.
Already the movement had become a habit. Unconsciously she lifted her
hand and flashed the ring in the eyes of Mrs Swadling.

"Well, I never!" she cried. "I might 'ave known wot yer were up to,
an' me see a weddin' in me cup only this very mornin."

Mrs Yabsley looked at Jonah and laughed.

"Might as well own up, Joe," she cried. "The cat's out of the bag."

"Right y'are," cried Jonah. "Let 'em all come. I can't be 'ung fer
it."

Mrs Yabsley, delighted with her son-in-law's speech, invited Mrs
Swadling to a seat, and then stepped out to ask a few of her neighbours
in to drink a glass and wish them luck. In half an hour the room was
full of women, who were greatly impressed by the bottles of beer, a
luxury for aristocrats. When Joey the pieman arrived, some were
sitting on the veranda, as the room was crowded. Mrs Yabsley anxiously
reckoned the number of guests; she had reckon