Cis.
Yes, you may—it’s my share of dessert. Besides, it’s a horrid shame you don’t grub with us.
Beatie.
What, a poor little music mistress!
Cis.
Yes. They’re only going to give you four guineas a quarter. Fancy getting a girl like you for four guineas a quarter—why, an eighth of you is worth more than that! Now peg away at your apple.
[Produces a cigarette.
Beatie.
There’s company at dinner, isn’t there?