“No dinna coom yet,” said she, “it's no fit for ye to see, — I'll mak the bed and clean up, and tak oop the carpet, and yell see better,” — and off she went. “I won't spend more than one quarter's rent,” said my old friend, “though they are gude tenants, and I dunna wish them to go.” Winking his eye and chuckling, “Tak ye care Walt, she's a frisky one, though I won't tell your wife.” I fired up, hoping to hear something warm about her; but there was nothing against her. She was a good, clean, industrious, sober wife, ten years married; “but,” added the old man, “I think she'd like mair than her husband can do for her, — he's six feet high without his shoes, — but a poor creature — a poor creature.”

“I'll come back to my lunch with you, I am going to my stock-broker's,” said I, “and I'll go to see the house in the afternoon.” Having thrown this dust in my friend's eyes, I went straight to Mrs. Byron's, ten minutes after she had left us.

She opened the door. I entered a little sitting-room, all in it bright as a new pin, humble, yet with every comfort, — wonderful for her class of life it seemed to me. She showed me what she wanted done, whiting the ceiling, this and that. I said “yes” to everything, but was thinking of nothing but getting into her. Lust struck me all of a heap, our eyes were meeting each other, my lewedness was increasing. There she was in the house alone with me. “So you have no children,” said I and we entered on the same strain that my old friend had. “Nor you?” Then we compared notes. We had been both married for a number of years. I told her I hated my wife. “Oh! what a pity,” said she, “and such a fine mon as ye be.”

Then we went into the kitchen. A little place with lots of tins as bright as silver, and a little table white as if just made. I complimented her on the beautiful cleanliness; she was much flattered. Yes she prided herself on it, cleaned everything herself every day, had nothing else to do; then had her dinner, and laid down and had a nap, then got ready for her husband's sup-per. “Won't he be home to dinner?” I asked. No it was too far off, — he never came home till half-past six, — just now he had gone a little way off for his firm, and would not be home for three or four days, — he was foreman somewhere.

I jumped at the news. “I think we had better do what Mr. McCabe told you, go to bed at once, and not get up till your husband comes home, and see if we can get a bairn.” “And much good that will do me,” said she, “won't it, if we did, — aye, that would get me into trouble,” and she laughed. “No it won't, — we should have the fun, and no mischief after, — you know I can't get bairns.” “Ar dunna know, ar dunna know,” said she shaking her head very slowly, looking at me, and turning scarlet. “Damn it,” I cried. “give me a kiss, — I've been longing for you from the moment I saw you,” — and I gave her a kiss or two without much resistance from her. She broke away, but I clutched her, and kissed her again and again, rubbing my belly up against hers in a baudy way.

Then we fell to talking about not having children, and how funny those things went. Some women the first time a man was in bed with them, it was done. Others might sleep with any man, and have none. “How did I know?” she asked slyly, then turning off said, “Well now have the floor mended, — look at that hole, —I've stopped it up, the mice come through, — the other night one came out, and ran up my clothes whilst sit- ting at the fire.” I was ready with a baudy suggestion for that, or anything else she might have said, for I was now randy to recklessness.

“You had your feet on the fender?” “Yes.” “I was sure, and your clothes well up, warming it, weren't you now? — it is so nice to warm it, isn't it?” She laughed. “The mouse peeped out, and seeing it looked so warm and cosy up between your thighs, ran to get between them. I wish I'd been that mouse, — I'd have got right in.” She laughed, and gave me a hard slap on my shoulder. “Oh! you're a bad un,” said she, “I thot ye war when I saw ye fust.” My cock was standing, I began to pull it about outside my trowsers to let her see that I was randy. I always did that instinctively when trying to get over women, fancying that seeing me fiddling there, and knowing what it meant it made them randy too. She eyed me laughing, checking her-self, then laughing again and said demurely, “Then there's the roof, the wet comes in both back and front, and just over the bed — tell Mr. McCabe that, won't you, and he'll repair it if ye say he must.”

“I've not seen where the roof leaks.” “Come up,” said she. I followed her to the narrow staircase, scarcely wide enough for a stout man, and steep as a ladder. She went up first. Directly I had got up a stair, I laid my head down on them whilst she went up unsuspectingly, leaving me to look up her short petticoats. A jolly thick pair of legs I saw, thick and clumsy, but in such white stockings. As she got to the top, not hearing me she turned round, saw my game, and disappeared into the room. I followed quickly, she was covering up the bed. “It's all in a muddle,” said she, “excuse it sir, I had not time — ye coomd sooner than ye said.” She looked at me as I thought invitingly.

I'm sure she was lewed at that minute. A strong, hale, half-fucked woman of thirty-five who had been half-an-hour talking baudily, though in guarded language, with a young man in whose ballocks the sperm was boiling. I caught her, and kissed her again. “There man, — that's all, — that's all,” said she.

“I can't see the wet,” said I. It was a large four-post bedstead of common make, but with as nice white hangings as I had in my own house. The bed nearly filled the little room. “I must pull off the top,” said she, “don't you see where the wet has come through?” I did, but said I didn't. She put a chair by the side of the bed, and stepped from it on to the bed, pulled back the linen-head, and showed the stained ceiling. I put my hand up her clothes. With a cry she flopped down on to the bed, showing her limbs. “Adun now, — daun, — Yell get me into trouble, — ar dun sir,” — but I pushed my hands all about under her petticoats, pushed every-where and felt warm flesh and hair, whilst she squirmed about and squealed gently. I then shoved her violently back, pulled out my prick, and tried to feel her cunt. What I did feel I don't know; but she slid off the bed showing her limbs, and crying, “Har dun now.” I clutched her close as she came to the floor, my prick still out. “Let me fuck you.” “Ah! hish! Mon.” I put both my hands round her, and kissed her, pulling her close to me. “Now dunna, — ar won't, — na, — na, — now leave me alone, — yell be getting me into trouble.”

What next I scarcely know, but I talked, persuaded, and told her I'd have her with a condom. She did not know what it was. I then often carried French letters in my pocket; so I pulled one out, explained it, and showed how it came over my prick. She was all curiosity. No it was beastly, fit for whores, said she, “them beasts.” “No yell get me into trouble, no ye shan't, — I wonna,” — and then leaning her back against the bed; one of her legs on the chair, one on the floor, in that ambiguous, uneasy position, with a strip of carpet slipping about under my feet, I got my prick into her. How the devil one leg was on the chair, one on the floor just then, I can't to this moment understand. Did she lift it up? did I But in that posture my prick made acquaintance with her cunt, and pushing hard the car-pet slipt away, my feet and me with it, out coming my prick whilst I stumbled against her in slipping.

Incensed and swearing, “Let's do it properly my love,” I pushed her back against the bed, and clutching her thighs with both hands heaved them up to my hips. I could not guide my pego, but pushed at random, its instinct directing, and I dare say her quiet help, soon got me to the nick after a few battering shoves against her buttocks, and cunt-wig; and then Mrs. Byron and I being joined together in holy copulation, moistened each other's privates copiously and speedily.