When Bob and Francesca stood together at the wedding altar, he tried to forget about his first wedding. Comparing Francesca to Selma was like comparing a finely aged wine to a cheap grape-flavoured drink mix, or like comparing a gazelle to an elephant.
Perhaps that was a bit harsh of him to think in such a way. Elephants were intelligent, emotionally complex creatures with a certain dignity and beauty about them. Selma wasn't an idiot, but she had little dignity, beauty, or grace. At their wedding dance, Selma had stepped on Bob's toes more than once, and Bob had done his best to suppress flashbacks of getting his feet smashed by a mallet.
At the altar, Francesca looked at Bob in a different way than Selma: Francesca looked at Bob with shining eyes, as though in awe of him, and as they said their wedding vows, the look in her eyes slowly became sly and lustful. By contrast, Selma's eyes had looked rather dull and blank throughout the wedding, and she'd worn a constant bland smirk.
As Bob slipped the ring on Francesca's finger, their eyes met, and the adoring light returned to Francesca's eyes. By a complete coincidence, Francesca happened to be standing in a patch of sunlight that came in through the church's stained glass windows, and she seemed to have an aura around her.
Bob and Francesca kissed, and Bob relished it this time.