He could not resist her eyes, and took the glass from her hands and thanked her.
"Here's good luck and all prosperity to you and your husband," he said, and emptied the glass.
Her face brightened with pleasure.
"Lick your lips," she begged. "Don't lose a drop of it: 'tis life—milk's the very beginning of life—so my mother used to tell."
"And do you think this cup is the beginning of mine?"
"No—yours beginned fifty year ago by the look of you. But milk will help you. You're just the thin, poor-fed fashion of man as ought to drink it. My Daniel's different. With his huge thews he must have red meat—like a dear old tiger. Milk's no use to him."
"By Jove—d'you think I look fifty, Mrs. Brendon?" he asked.
"To my eye, I should guess you wasn't much under. Beg pardon, I'm sure, if you be."
"I'm thirty-six," he said.
"My stars! Then you ought to take more care of yourself."