Mr. Polly remained waving his hat and Mrs. Polly her handkerchief until they were hidden under the bridge. The dominating figure to the last was Mr. Voules. He had followed them along the platform waving the equestrian grey hat and kissing his hand to the bride.
They subsided into their seats.
“Got a compartment to ourselves anyhow,” said Mrs. Polly after a pause.
Silence for a moment.
“The rice ’e must ’ave bought. Pounds and pounds!”
Mr. Polly felt round his collar at the thought.
“Ain’t you going to kiss me, Elfrid, now we’re alone together?”
He roused himself to sit forward hands on knees, cocked his hat over one eye, and assumed an expression of avidity becoming to the occasion.
“Never!” he said. “Ever!” and feigned to be selecting a place to kiss with great discrimination.
“Come here,” he said, and drew her to him.
“Be careful of my ’at,” said Mrs. Polly, yielding awkwardly.
