[Reading the letter.] “Slightly indisposed, caught trifling cold at the Dog Show. Where do you buy your handkerchiefs?” There’s nothing about neuralgia or putting her foot to the ground here, my darling.
Agatha Posket.
No, but can’t you read between the lines, Æneas? That is the letter of a woman who is not at all well.
Mr. Posket.
All right, my darling, if you are bent upon going I will accompany you.
Agatha Posket.
Certainly not, Æneas—Charlotte insists on being my companion; we can keep each other warm in a closed cab.
Mr. Posket.
But can’t I make a third?
Agatha Posket.