Tresco drew the cork of the big bottle, which he handed to Gentle Annie.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“You pour it out, my dear. It’ll make it taste so much sweeter.”
“You gay old deceiver: you’re like the rest of them.”
“No, my dear: they’re imitation; I’m the genuine article.”
Gentle Annie filled his tall glass deftly, so that the froth stood in a dome over the liquor. She was about to replace the bottle on the table, when Tresco took a tumbler from the dresser, and filled it for her.
“Keep me company,” he said. “It looks more comfortable.”
“But stout’s so fattening.”
“My dear, a lean woman is a reproach to her sex.”
“Then, what’s a fat one?”