“Come, gran’ma,” she said. “I’m sure it’s time as you was in bed—come on.” “Sit thee down an’ drink a drop wi’s—it’s not ivry night as we ’a’e cumpny.” “No, let me take you to bed—I’m sure you must be ready.” “Sit thee down ’ere, I say, an’ get thee a drop o’ port. Come—no argy-bargyin’.” Meg fetched more glasses and a decanter. I made a place for her between me and George. We all had port wine. Meg, naïve and unconscious, waited on us deliciously. Her cheeks gleamed like satin when she laughed, save when the dimples held the shadow. Her suave, tawny neck was bare and bewitching. She turned suddenly to George as he asked her a question, and they found their faces close together. He kissed her, and when she started back, jumped and kissed her neck with warmth. “Là—là—dy—dà—là—dy—dà—dy—dà,” cried the old woman in delight, and she clutched her wineglass. “Come on—chink!” she cried, “all together—chink to him!” We four chinked and drank. George poured wine in a tumbler, and drank it off. He was getting excited, and all the energy and passion that normally were bound down by his caution and self-instinct began to flame out. “Here, aunt!” said he, lifting his tumbler, “here’s to what you want—you know!” “I knowed tha’ wor as spunky as ony on’em,” she cried. “Tha’ nobbut wanted warmin’ up. I’ll see as you’re all right. It’s a bargain. Chink again, ivrybody.” “A bargain,” said he before he put his lips to the glass. “What bargain’s that?” said Meg. The old lady laughed loudly and winked at George, who, with his lips wet with wine, got up and kissed Meg soundly, saying: “There it is—that seals it.” Meg wiped her face with her big pinafore, and seemed uncomfortable. “Aren’t you comin’, gran’ma?” she pleaded. “Eh, tha’ wants ter ’orry me off—what’s thai say, George—a deep un, isna ’er?” “Dunna go, Aunt, dunna be hustled off.” “Tush—Pish,” snorted the old lady. “Yah, tha’ ’rt a slow un, an’ no mistakes! Get a candle, Meg, I’m ready.” Meg brought a brass bedroom candlestick. Bill brought in the money in a tin box, and delivered it into the hands of the old lady. “Go thy ways to bed now, lad,” said she to the ugly, wizened serving-man. He sat in a corner and pulled off his boots. “Come an’ kiss me good-night, George,” said the old woman—and as he did so she whispered in his ear, whereat he laughed loudly. She poured whiskey into her glass and called to the serving-man to drink it. Then, pulling herself up heavily, she leaned on Meg and went upstairs. She had been a big woman, one could see, but now her shapeless, broken figure looked pitiful beside Meg’s luxuriant form. We heard them slowly, laboriously climb the stairs. George sat pulling his moustache and half-smiling; his eyes were alight with that peculiar childish look they had when he was experiencing new and doubtful sensations. Then he poured himself more whiskey. “I say, steady!” I admonished. “What for!” he replied, indulging himself like a spoiled child and laughing.