"It's not late, Granny. You know I went to Dr. Burns's to dinner."
"It's very late," repeated the delicate old voice, slightly querulous, because of its owner's failure to hear the explanation. "Much too late for a girl like you. You should have had your beauty sleep long ago."
Charlotte smiled, feeling as if her twenty-six years had added another ten to themselves since morning. She patted the soft cheek on the pillow, and tenderly adjusted the gossamer nightcap which, after the fashion of its wearer's youth, kept the white locks snugly in order during the sleeping hours.
"I'm here now, Granny. Please go to sleep right away. Or—would you like a glass of milk first?"
"What say?"
"Milk, dear,—hot milk?"
"Yes, yes, it will put me to sleep. Quite hot, not lukewarm."
Charlotte went down the steep stairs again, heated the milk, and brought it back. When it had been taken she kissed the small face, drew the linen sheet smooth again, and went away with the candle. In her own room she presently lay down upon her cot, rejoicing that the old lady could not hear its creaking.
Toward morning she fell asleep.