had champagny wine.' There is a dead stillness, and she knows very well
what it means, she has even prepared for it: 'And to them as doubts my
word--here's the cork.'

She places the cork, in its lovely gold drapery, upon the table.

MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'I'm sure!'

MRS. TWYMLEY. 'I would thank you, Mrs. Dowey, not to say a word against
my Alfred.'

MRS. DOWEY. 'Me!'

DOWEY. 'Come, come, ladies,' in the masterful way that is so hard for
women to resist; 'if you say another word, I'll kiss the lot of you.'

There is a moment of pleased confusion.

MRS. MICKLEHAM. 'Really, them sodgers!'

THE HAGGERTY WOMAN. 'The kilties is the worst!'

MRS. TWYMLEY. 'I'm sure,' heartily, 'we don't grudge you your treats,
Mrs. Dowey; and sorry we are that this is the end.'

DOWEY. 'Yes, it's the end,' with a troubled look at his old lady; 'I
must be off in ten minutes.'

The little soul is too gallant to break down in company. She hurries
into the pantry and shuts the door.