I’m going to shut this man’s mouth before he comes into this house to-morrow.
Charlotte.
Wait till he comes.
Agatha Posket.
Yes, till he stalks in here with his “How d’ye do, Posket? Haven’t seen your wife since the year ’66, by Gad, sir!” Not I! Æneas!
Mr. Posket.
My dear.
Agatha Posket.
Lady Jenkins—Adelaide—is very ill; she can’t put her foot to the ground with neuralgia.
[Taking the letter from her pocket, and giving it to him.