Mrs. Candy was still sober at the hour of the ceremony.  Her husband, not a bad fellow in his way, had long since returned to her, and as yet had not done more than threaten a repetition of his assault.  Both were present at church.  A week ago Bob had established himself in a room in Shooter’s Gardens, henceforth to be shared with him by his bride.  Probably he might have discovered a more inviting abode for the early days of married life, but Bob had something of the artist’s temperament and could not trouble about practical details; for the present this room would do as well as another.  It was cheap, and he had need of all the money he could save from everyday expenses.  Pennyloaf would go en with her shirt-making, of course, and all they wanted was a roof over their heads at night.

And in truth he was fond of Pennyloaf.  The poor little slave worshipped him so sincerely; she repaid his affectionate words with such fervent gratitude; and there was no denying that she had rather a pretty face, which had attracted him from the first.  But above all, this preference accorded to so humble a rival had set Clem Peckover beside herself.  It was all very well for Clem to make pretence of having transferred her affections to Jack Bartley.  Why, Suke Jollop (ostensibly Clem’s bosom friend, but treacherous at times because she had herself given an eye to Jack)—­Suke Jollop reported that Clem would have killed Pennyloaf had she dared.  Pennyloaf had been going about in fear for her life since that attack upon her in Myddelton Passage.  ’I dursn’t marry you, Bob!  I dursn’t!’ she kept saying, when the proposal was first made.  But Bob laughed with contemptuous defiance.  He carried his point, and now he was going to spend his wedding-day at the Crystal Palace—­choosing that resort because he knew Clem would be there, and Jack Bartley, and Suke Jollop, and many another acquaintance, before whom he was resolved to make display of magnanimity.

Pennyloaf shone in most unwonted apparel.  Everything was new except her boots—­it had been decided that these only needed soleing.  Her broad-brimmed hat of yellow straw was graced with the reddest feather purchasable in the City Road; she had a dolman of most fashionable cut, blue, lustrous; blue likewise was her dress, hung about with bows and streamers.  And the gleaming ring on the scrubby small finger!  On that hand most assuredly Pennyloaf would wear no glove.  How proud she was of her ring!  How she turned it round and round when nobody was looking!  Gold, Penny. loaf, real gold!  The pawnbroker would lend her seven-and-sixpence on it, any time.