The Magistrate: A Farce in Three Acts

by Arthur Wing Pinero

Agatha Posket.

[Quickly passing her plate over to Charlotte.] I’m not hungry.

Charlotte.

You’re a dear.

Lukyn.

[Emphatically.] It was in ’55. I’m forgetful again—pardon me. [He hands plate of oysters to Charlotte, and is surprised to find her eating vigorously.] Why, I thought I—— [To Agatha Posket.] My dear madam, a thousand apologies. [He helps her and then himself.] Pah! they’re cold—icy—you could skate on ’em. There’s a dish of something else over there.

[He goes to the sideboard; Vale’s hand is again stretched forth with the other covered dish.

Vale.

I say, Lukyn.

Lukyn.