nstinctive understanding of humanity,
Mr. Clapper, it appeared, owed his present happiness. Uncle Gutton it
was who had divined from the outset the sort of husband the fair
Rosina would come eventually to desire--a plain, simple, hard-working,
level-headed sort of chap, with no hity-tity nonsense about him: such
an one, in short, as Mr. Clapper himself--(at this Mr. Clapper expressed
approval by a lengthy laugh)--a gentleman who, so far as Uncle Gutton's
knowledge went, had but one fault: a silly habit of laughing when there
was nothing whatever to laugh at; of which, it was to be hoped, the
cares and responsibilities of married life would cure him. (To the
rest of the discourse Mr. Clapper listened with a gravity painfully
maintained.) There had been moments, Uncle Gutton was compelled to
admit, when the fair Rosina had shown inclination to make a fool of
herself--to desire in place of honest worth mere painted baubles. He
used the term in no offensive sense. Speaking for himself, what a man
wanted beyond his weekly newspaper, he, Uncle Gutton, was unable to
understand; but if there were fools in the world who wanted to read
rubbish written by other fools, then the other fools would of course
write it; Uncle Gutton did not blame them. He mentioned no names, but
what he would say was: a plain man for a sensible girl, and no painted
baubles.

The waiter here entering with a message from the cabman to the effect
that if he was to catch the twelve-forty-five from Charing Cross, it
was about full time he started, Uncle Gutton was compelled to bring his
speech to a premature conclusion. The bride and bridegroom were hustled
into their clothes. There followed much female embracing and male
hand-shaking. The rice having been forgotten, the waiter was almost
thrown downstairs, with directions to at once procure some. There
appearing danger of his not returning in time, the resourceful Jarman
suggested cold semolina pudding as a substitute. But the idea was
discouraged by the bride. A slipper of remarkable antiquity, discovered
on the floor and regarded as a gift from Providence, was flung from the
window by brother George, with admirable aim, and alighted on the roof
of the cab. The waiter, on his return, not being able to find it, seemed
surprised.

I walked back as far as the Obelisk with the O'Kelly and the Signora,
who were then living together in Lambeth. Till that morning I had
not seen the O'Kelly since my departur