his wearing a smock-frock and carrying a trowel, and just as the dear
Bishop said, "Who giveth this woman?" the poor old darling dropped his
trowel with a crash and rather spoilt things.

The wedding-cake was a great big war loaf stuck with flags. Juno cut
it in old-fashioned style with Portcullis's sword. While we were doing
ourselves well with war-bread and margarine, boiled eggs and plenty of
champagne, the Controller of Wedding Breakfasts blew in (it's a new
post, and he's two hundred and fifty able-bodied young assistants).
He was curious to see what we were having, and cautioned us against
throwing any rice after our bride and 'groom. "But how absurd, you
ricky person!" chipped in Popsy, Lady Ramsgate, who, of course, is
Juno's great-aunt. "_We_ never throw rice at our wedding-people!
_That_'s only done by the outlying tribes of barbarians." It was a
pity she attracted his notice, for he was down on her directly for
having on a toque almost entirely made of young turnips and carrots.
He said it was "an infraction of rule 150, cap. 4,500 of the Safety of
the Empire Act, forbidding the use of the people's food for personal
adornment."

The Allotment expression, which is the correct one now, is a look of
interest and expectation, because what one's planted is coming up.
_Some_ people rather spoil their Allotment expression by a _puzzled_
look. _Et pourquoi_? dear, they've _quite_ forgotten what they
planted, and, though they _pretend_ they know _exactly_ what it is
that's coming up, they really haven't the slightest!

My last photo is considered to show the Allotment expression in utter
perfection. (It's been in _People of Position, Mayfair Murmurs_, and
several other weeklies.) I'm standing in my potato-patch (my Allotment