Oh, come now, sir, what is seven days! Why many a married gentleman in your position, sir, would have been glad to have made it fourteen.
Mr. Posket.
Go away—leave me.
Lugg.
Certainly, sir. [Popham re-enters with a small tumbler of brandy and water; he takes it from her and drinks it.] It’s not wanted. I’m thankful to say he’s better.
Popham.
[To Lugg.] If you please, cook presents her compliments, and she would be glad of the pleasure of your company downstairs, before leavin’.
[They go out.
Mr. Posket.