“Well, I thought I’d wait and see Georgie. He came about half-past five. Meg had been fidgeting about him, wondering where he was, and how he was, and so on. Bless me if I’d worry and whittle about a man. The old grandma heard the cart, and before he could get down she shouted—you know her room is in the front—‘Hi, George, ma lad, sharpen thy shins an’ com’ an’ a’e a look at ’em—thee’r’s two on ’em, two on ’em!’ and she laughed something awful. “‘’Ello Granma, what art ter shoutin’ about?’ he said, and at the sound of his voice Meg turned to me so pitiful, and said: “‘He’s been wi’ them Mayhews.” “‘Tha’s gotten twins, a couple at a go ma lad!’ shouted the old woman, and you know how she gives squeal before she laughs! She made the horse shy, and he swore at it something awful. Then Bill took it, and Georgie came upstairs. I saw Meg seem to shrink when she heard him kick at the stairs as he came up, and she went white. When he got to the top he came in. He fairly reeked of whisky and horses. Bah, a man is hateful when he reeks of drink! He stood by the side of the bed grinning like a fool, and saying, quite thick: “‘You’ve bin in a bit of a ’urry, ’aven’t you Meg. An’ how are ter feelin’ then?’ “‘Oh, I’m a’ right,’ said Meg. “‘Is it twins, straight?’ he said, ‘wheer is ’em?’ “Meg looked over at the cradle, and he went round the bed to it, holding to the bed-rail. He had never kissed her, nor anything. When he saw the twins, asleep with their fists shut tight as wax, he gave a laugh as if he was amused, and said: “‘Two right enough—an’ one on ’em red! Which is the girl, Meg, the black un?’ “‘They’re both boys,’ said Meg, quite timidly. “He turned round, and his eyes went little. “‘Blast ’em then!’ he said. He stood there looking like a devil. Sybil dear, I did not know our George could look like that. I thought he could only look like a faithful dog or a wounded stag. But he looked fiendish. He stood watching the poor little twins, scowling at them, till at last the little red one began to whine a bit. Ma Stainwright came pushing her fat carcass in front of him and bent over the baby, saying: “‘Why, my pretty, what are they doin’ to thee, what are they?—what are they doin’ to thee?’ “Georgie scowled blacker than ever, and went out, lurching against the wash-stand and making the pots rattle till my heart jumped in my throat. “‘Well, if you don’t call that scandylos——!’ said old Ma Stainwright, and Meg began to cry. You don’t know, Cyril! She sobbed fit to break her heart. I felt as if I could have killed him. “That old gran’ma began talking to him, and he laughed at her. I do hate to hear a man laugh when he’s half drunk. It makes my blood boil all of a sudden. That old grandmother backs him up in everything, she’s a regular nuisance. Meg has cried to me before over the pair of them. The wicked, vulgar old thing that she is——”