[Producing a decanter from under his coat.] The port wine what you asked for, sir. I couldn’t get it away before—the old gentlemen do hug port wine so.
Cis.
Got a glass?
Wyke.
Yes, sir. [Producing wine-glass from his pocket, and pouring out wine.] What ain’t missed ain’t mourned, eh, Master Cis?
Cis.
[Offering wine.] Here you are, Beatie dear.
Beatie.
The idea of such a thing! I couldn’t!
Cis.