"I must give you just a little peg!"
John heard the gurgle of liquid, and the "squirt" of a syphon. A moment later Mrs. Beecher Monmouth came across the room, put a glass in his hand, and lightly kissed his ear.
"I wish it was a little lighter," she whispered in a cooing fashion that was peculiar with her, "then I could see my pretty boy's face."
"If you did see your pretty boy's face," thought John, "you'd get the shock of your life!"
He took the whisky glass from her fingers. Silence lay between them for a moment, then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth spoke again.
"Drink," she whispered urgently.
John, who had been holding his glass in his left hand, shifted it to his right.
"Well, here's to you," he said, lifting the glass.
"Have you drunk it?"
"What else do you think?" inquired John, and laughed.