"No; you are not," said old-young Aunt Norah. "You've heard too much, and you shall hear the rest. We are going to be married, me and this gentleman."
"Married?" cried little Margot. "Whatever is that?"
"My child, it is the gift of heaven," said Samuel Flannigan.
Margot raised her black eyes to the dripping skies.
"It seems to come down in a good pour," she said. "Still, I don't understand."
"You know about Madam and your granddad," cried young-old Aunt Norah.
"To be sure; am I wanting in sense entirely?"
"Well, they're married, the same as we'll be very soon, very soon."
"Oh, deary me!" cried little Margot. "That does sound lovely. Only you know, Mr. Samuel Flannigan, you haven't got the beautiful face of my granddad, so perhaps your little children won't be quite as lovely. I wonder how many you'll have. My old nurse at Uncle Jacko's said that when I cracked my fingers, every crack meant a wee babe. Shall I crack them now for you two?"
"Oh, child, you are too awful," cried Aunt Norah, who found herself blushing in the most uncomfortable way.