...
If I had not been so grim in spirit, I think I should have found much
of my wedding amusing. I remember a lot of ridiculous detail that still
declines to be funny in my memory. The officiating clergyman had a
cold, and turned his "n's" to "d's," and he made the most mechanical
compliment conceivable about the bride's age when the register was
signed. Every bride he had ever married had had it, one knew. And two
middle-aged spinsters, cousins of Marion's and dressmakers at Barking,
stand out. They wore marvellously bright and gay blouses and dim old
skirts, and had an immense respect for Mr. Ramboat. They threw rice;
they brought a whole bag with them and gave handfuls away to unknown
little boys at the church door and so created a Lilliputian riot; and
one had meant to throw a slipper. It was a very warm old silk slipper,
I know, because she dropped it out of a pocket in the aisle--there was
a sort of jumble in the aisle--and I picked it up for her. I don't think
she actually threw it, for as we drove away from the church I saw her
in a dreadful, and, it seemed to me, hopeless, struggle with her pocket;
and afterwards my eye caught the missile of good fortune lying, it or
its fellow, most obviously mislaid, behind the umbrella-stand in the
hall.
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