So they went on discoursing on Haytersbank and the old days, till
Bell Robson, having finished her afternoon nap, came slowly
down-stairs to join them; and after that the conversation became so
broken up, from the desire of the other two to attend and reply as
best they could to her fragmentary and disjointed talk, that Kester
took his leave before long; falling, as he did so, into the formal
and unnaturally respectful manner which he had adopted on first
coming in.

But Sylvia ran after him, and brought him back from the door.

'To think of thy going away, Kester, without either bit or drink;
nay, come back wi' thee, and taste wine and cake.'

Kester stood at the door, half shy, half pleased, while Sylvia, in
all the glow and hurry of a young housekeeper's hospitality, sought
for the decanter of wine, and a wine-glass in the corner cupboard,
and hastily cut an immense wedge of cake, which she crammed into his
hand in spite of his remonstrances; and then she poured him out an
overflowing glass of wine, which Kester would far rather have gone
without, as he knew manners too well to suppose that he might taste
it without having gone through the preliminary ceremony of wishing
the donor health and happiness. He stood red and half smiling, with
his cake in one hand, his wine in the other, and then began,--

'Long may ye live,
Happy may ye he,
And blest with a num'rous
Pro-ge-ny.'