It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Most of all she enjoyed the gentle gratitude of her foster family members, even the teasing 7 of Mike, her foster brother, who liked to play food critic to give her a hard time.
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