[_Listening._] Look out! Here's the mater!

[_They run to the piano, he resumes playing, and she counting as before._

BEATIE.

One and two--and one--and two, &c.

_Enter AGATHA POSKET, a handsome, showy woman, of about thirty-six, looking perhaps younger._

AGATHA POSKET.

Why, Cis child, at your music again?

CIS.

Yes, ma, always at it. You'll spoil my taste by forcing it if you're not careful.

AGATHA POSKET.

We have no right to keep Miss Tomlinson so late.

BEATIE.

Oh, thank you, it doesn't matter. I--I--am afraid we're not making--very--great--progress.

CIS.

[_Winking at BEATIE._] Well, if I play that again, will you kiss me?

BEATIE.

[_Demurely._] I don't know, I'm sure. [_To AGATHA POSKET._] May I promise that, ma'am?

[_Sits in the window recess. CIS, joining her, puts his arm round her waist._

AGATHA POSKET.

No, certainly not. [_To herself, watching them._] If I could only persuade aeneas to dismiss this _protegee_ of his, and to engage a music-master, it would ease my conscience a little. If this girl knew the truth, how indignant she would be! And then there is the injustice to the boy himself, and to my husband's friends who are always petting and fondling and caressing what they call "a fine little man of fourteen!" Fourteen! Oh, what an idiot I have been to conceal my child's real age! [_Looking at the clock._] Charlotte is late; I wish she would come. It will be a relief to worry her with my troubles.

MR. POSKET.

[_Talking outside._] We smoke all over the house, Bullamy, all over the house.

AGATHA POSKET.

I will speak to aeneas about this little girl, at any rate.

_Enter MR. POSKET, a mild gentleman of about fifty, smoking a cigarette, followed by MR. BULLAMY, a fat, red-faced man with a bronchial cough and general huskiness._

MR. POSKET.

Smoke anywhere, Bullamy--smoke anywhere.

MR. BULLAMY.

Not with my bronchitis, thank ye.

MR. POSKET.

[_Beaming at AGATHA POSKET._] Ah, my darling!

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Producing a small box from his waistcoat pocket._] All I take after dinner is a jujube--sometimes two. [_Offering the box._] May I tempt Mrs. Posket?

AGATHA POSKET.

No, thank you. [_Treading on one of the nuts which have been scattered over the room._] How provoking--who brings nuts into the drawing-room?

MR. POSKET.

Miss Tomlinson still here? [_To BEATIE._] Don't go, don't go. Glad to see Cis so fond of his music. Your sister Charlotte is behind her time, my darling.

AGATHA POSKET.

Her train is delayed, I suppose.

MR. POSKET.

You must stay and see my sister-in-law, Bullamy.

MR. BULLAMY.

Pleasure--pleasure!

MR. POSKET.

_I_ have never met her yet, we will share first impressions. In the interim, will Miss Tomlinson delight us with a little music?

MR. BULLAMY.

[_Bustling up to the piano._] If this young lady is going to sing she might like one of my jujubes.

[_BEATIE sits at the piano with CIS and MR. BULLAMY on each side of her. MR. POSKET treads on a nut as he walks over to his wife._

MR. POSKET.

Dear me--how come nuts into the drawing-room? [_To AGATHA._] Of what is my darling thinking so deeply? [_Treads on another nut._] Another!