Cis.
Bellinger—’74—extra dry—to drink our health and happiness.
Charlotte.
Champagne! It may save my life!
Agatha Posket.
Miss Tomlinson, go home!
Mr. Posket.
Stop! Cis Farringdon, my dear boy, you are but nineteen at present, but you were only fourteen yesterday, so you are a growing lad; on the day you marry and start for Canada, I will give you a thousand pounds!
Popham.
[Putting her apron to her eyes.] Oh!