Agatha Posket.
Yes, I have—because, if he lives to be a hundred, he must be buried at ninety-five.
Charlotte.
That’s true.
Agatha Posket.
Then, there’s another aspect. He’s a great favourite with all our friends—women friends especially. Even his little music mistress and the girl-servants hug and kiss him because he’s such an engaging boy, and I can’t stop it. But it’s very awful to see these innocent women fondling a young man of nineteen.
Charlotte.
The women don’t know it.
Agatha Posket.
But they’d like to know it. I mean they ought to know it! The other day I found my poor boy sitting on Lady Jenkins’s lap, and in the presence of Sir George. I have no right to compromise Lady Jenkins in that way. And now, Charley, you see the whirlpool in which I am struggling—if you can throw me a rope, pray do.