“—­’cause you see,” Small Porges, continued, “after all, I found him for you—­under a hedge, you know—­”

“Ah!—­why did you, Georgy dear?  We were so happy—­before—­he came—­”

“But you couldn’t have been, you know; you weren’t married—­even then, so you couldn’t have been really happy, you know;” said Small Porges shaking his head.

“Why Georgy—­what do you mean?”

“Well, Uncle Porges told me that nobody can live happy—­ever after, unless they’re married—­first.  So that was why I ’ranged for him to marry you, so you could both be happy, an’ all revelry an’ joy,—­like the fairy tale, you know.”

“But, you see, we aren’t in a fairy tale, dear, so I’m afraid we must make the best of things as they are!” and here she sighed again, and rose.  “Come, Georgy, it’s much later than I thought, and quite time you were in bed, dear.”

“All right, Auntie Anthea,—­only—­don’t you think it’s jest a bit—­cruel to send a boy to bed so very early, an’ when the moon’s so big, an’ everything looks so—­frightfully fine? ’sides—­”

“Well, what now?” she asked, a little wearily as, obedient to his pleading gesture, she sat down again.

“Why, you haven’t answered my question yet, you know.”

“What question?” said she, not looking at him.

“’Bout my—­Uncle Porges.”

“But Georgy—­I—­”

“You do like him—­jest a bit—­don’t you?—­please?” Small Porges was standing before her as he waited for her answer, but now, seeing how she hesitated, and avoided his eyes, he put one small hand beneath the dimple in her chin, so that she was forced to look at him.

“You do, please,—­don’t you?” he pleaded.

Anthea hesitated; but, after all,—­He was gone, and nobody could hear; and Small Porges was so very small; and who could resist the entreaty in his big, wistful eyes? surely not Anthea.  Therefore, with a sudden gesture of abandonment, she leaned forward in his embrace, and rested her weary head against his manly, small shoulder: 

“Yes!” she whispered.

“Jest as much as you like—­Mr. Cassilis?” he whispered back.

“Yes!”

“A—­bit more—­jest a teeny bit more?”

“Yes!”

“A—­lot more,—­lots an’ lots,—­oceans more?”

“Yes!”

The word was spoken, and, having uttered it, Anthea grew suddenly hot with shame, and mightily angry with herself, and would, straightway, have given the world to have it unsaid; the more so, as she felt Small Porges’ clasp tighten joyfully, and, looking up, fancied she read something like triumph in his look.

She drew away from him, rather hastily, and rose to her feet.

“Come!” said she, speaking now in a vastly different tone, “it must be getting very late—­”

“Yes, I s’pecks it’ll soon be nine o’clock, now!” he nodded.

“Then you ought to be in bed, fast asleep instead of talking such—­nonsense, out here.  So—­come along—­at once, sir!”