The other stormily answered—
'Get out, ye daft auld wife! Ale or porter the first day that my cousin Ronald comes into my own house? Champagne's the word, woman; and the best! What will ye have, Ronald—what brand do ye like?—Moett and Shandon?'
Ronald laughed.
'What do I know about such things?' said he. 'And besides, there's no reason for such extravagance. There's been no stag killed the day.'
'There's been no stag killed the day,' she retorted, 'but Ronald Strang's come into my house, and he'll have the best that's in it, or my name's no Kate Burnside—or Kate Menzies, I should say, God forgie me! Ring the bell, auntie.'
This time the grave-eyed barmaid appeared.
'A bottle of Moett and Shandon, Mary.'
'A pint bottle, m'm?'
'A pint bottle—ye stupid idiot?' she said (but quite good-naturedly). 'A quart bottle, of course!'
And then when the bottle was brought and the glasses filled, she said—