Mr. Bullamy.
Drinking?
Mr. Posket.
The waters—she’s a little dyspeptic. [Wyke goes out.] We encountered each other at the Tours des Fontaines—by accident I trod upon her dress——
Beatie.
Good-night, Cis dear.
Cis.
Oh!
Mr. Posket.
[Continuing to Mr. Bullamy.] I apologised. We talked about the weather, we drank out of the same glass, discovered that we both suffered from the same ailment, and the result is complete happiness.