"I'm glad," he said.
Then, "I'm sure of it," she ventured, boldly; and she observed with relief that he was not incredulous.
"Did the Duchess cry?"
"Oh, my, no! 'Waiter,' says the Duchess, 'open another bottle of that wine. I feel faint.'"
"What did Lord Wychester do then?"
"He paid for the wine." It occurred to her that she might now surely delight him. "Then he wanted to buy a bottle for me," she continued, eagerly, "just to spite the Duchess. 'If she can have wine,' says he, 'there isn't no good reason why you got to go dry.' But I couldn't see it. 'Oh, come on!' says he. 'What's the matter with you? Have a drink.' 'No, you don't!' says I. 'Why not?' says he." She drew the boy a little closer, and, in the pause she patted his hand. "'Because,' says I," she whispered, tenderly, "'I got a son; and I don't want him to do no drinking when he grows up!'" She paused again—that the effect of the words and of the caress might not be interrupted. "'Come off!' says Lord Wychester," she went on; "'you haven't got no son.' 'You wouldn't think to look at me,' says I, 'that I got a son seven years old the twenty-third of last month.' 'To the tall timber!' says he. 'You're too young and pretty. I'll give you a thousand dollars for a kiss.' 'No, you don't!' says I. 'Why not?' says he. 'Because,' says I, 'you don't.' 'I'll give you two thousand,' says he."
She was interrupted by the boy; his arms were anxiously stealing round her neck.
"'Three thousand!' says he."
"Mother," the boy whispered, "did you give it to him?"
Again, she drew him to her: as all mothers will, when, in the twilight, they tell tales to their children, and the climax approaches.