the looking-glass, the face that
was reflected back to her was that of a woman in whose eyes there was
something of disappointment and cheated longing.

Mrs. Bindle proceeded with her toilet. Everything seemed to go wrong,
and each article she required appeared to have hidden itself away.
Finally she assumed her bonnet, a study in two tints of green,
constructed according to the inevitable plan upon which all her
bonnets were built, narrow of gauge with a lofty superstructure. She
gave a final glance at herself in the glass, and sighed her
satisfaction at the sight of the maroon-coloured dress with the bright
green bonnet.

When Mrs. Bindle emerged into Fenton Street, working on her white kid
gloves with feverish movement, she found Bindle engaged in chatting
with a group of neighbours.

"'Ere comes my little beetroot," remarked Bindle; at which Mrs. Rogers
went off into a shriek of laughter and told him to "Go hon, do!"

Mrs. Bindle acknowledged the salutations of her neighbours with a
frigid inclination of her head. She strongly objected to Bindle's
"holding any truck" with the occupants of other houses in Fenton
Street.

"Well, well, s'long, all of you!" said Bindle. "It ain't my weddin',
that's one thing."

There were cheery responses to Bindle's remarks, and sotto voce
references to Mrs. Bindle as "a stuck-up cat."

"Mind you throw that cigar away before we get to the chapel," said
Mrs. Bindle, still working at her gloves.

"Right-o!" said Bindle, as they turned into the New King's Road. He
waved the hand containing the cigar in salutation to the driver of a
passing motor-bus with whom he was acquainted.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Mrs. Bindle snappishly.

"Wouldn't do wot?" enquired Bindle innocently.

"Recognising common people when you're with me," was the response.

"But that was 'Arry Sales," said Bindle, puzzled at Mrs. Bindle's
attitude. "'E ain't common, 'e drives a motor-bus."

"What will people think?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.

"Oh! they're used to 'Arry drivin' a bus," replied Bindle. "They might
think it funny if he was to drive an 'earse."

"You know what I mean," said Mrs. Bindle. "Why can't you remember that
you're goin' to a wedding."

"Nobody wouldn't know it from your looks, Mrs. B.," commented Bindle.
"You look about as 'appy as 'Earty does when 'e 'ears there's goin' to
be an air-raid."

"Oh, don't talk to me!" snapped Mrs. Bindle; and they continued on
their way in