Beatie.
I won’t!
Cis.
You’re disagreeable!
Beatie.
Not half so disagreeable as you are.
[They wrangle.
Wyke.
[To himself, watching them.] What a young gentleman it is! and only fourteen! Fourteen—he behaves like forty! [Cis chokes as he is drinking the wine; Beatie pats him on the back.] Why, even Cook has made a ’ash of everything, since he’s been in the house, and as for Popham——! [Seeing some one approaching.] Look out, Master Cis!
[Cis returns to the piano, Beatie counting as before. Wyke pretends to arrange the window curtains, concealing the decanter behind him.