He does now--but he says I shall win when I know the game better. MR. BULLAMY. What a boy he is! MR. POSKET. Isn't he a wonderful lad? And only fourteen, too. I'll tell you something else--perhaps you had better not mention it to his mother. MR. BULLAMY. No, no, certainly not. MR. POSKET. He's invested a little money for me. MR. BULLAMY. What in? MR. POSKET. Not _in_--_on_--on Sillikin for the Lincolnshire Handicap. Sillikin to win and Butterscotch one, two, three. MR. BULLAMY. Good Lord! MR. POSKET. Yes, the dear boy said, "Guv, it isn't fair you should give me all the tips, I'll give you some,"--and he did--he gave me Sillikin and Butterscotch. He'll manage it for you, if you like. "Plank it down," he calls it. MR. BULLAMY. [_Chuckling and choking._] Ha! ha! Ho! ho! [_Taking a jujube._] This boy will ruin me in jujubes. CIS. All ready! Look sharp! Guv, lend me a sov to start with? MR. POSKET. A sov to start with? [_They sit at the table. AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE come into the room._] We didn't think you would return so soon, my darling. AGATHA POSKET. Go on amusing yourselves, I insist, only don't teach my Cis to play cards. MR. BULLAMY. Ho! ho! MR. POSKET. [_To MR. BULLAMY._] Hush! Hush! AGATHA POSKET. [_To CHARLOTTE._] I'm glad of this--we can tell each other our miseries undisturbed. Will you begin? CHARLOTTE. Well, at last I am engaged to Captain Horace Vale. AGATHA POSKET. Oh! Charley, I'm so glad! CHARLOTTE. Yes--so is he--he says. He proposed to me at the Hunt Ball--in the passage--Tuesday week. AGATHA POSKET. What did he say? CHARLOTTE. He said, "By Jove, I love you awfully." AGATHA POSKET. Well--and what did you say? CHARLOTTE. Oh, I said, "Well, if you're going to be as eloquent as all that, by Jove, I can't stand out." So we settled it, in the passage. He bars flirting till after we're married. That's my misery. What's yours, Aggy? AGATHA POSKET. Something awful! CHARLOTTE. Cheer up, Aggy! What is it? AGATHA POSKET. Well, Charley, you know I lost my poor dear first husband at a very delicate age. CHARLOTTE. Well, you were five-and-thirty, dear. AGATHA POSKET. Yes, that's what I mean. Five-and-thirty is a very delicate age to find yourself single. You're neither one thing nor the other. You're not exactly a two-year-old, and you don't care to pull a hansom. However, I soon met Mr. Posket at Spa--bless him! CHARLOTTE. And you nominated yourself for the Matrimonial Stakes. Mr. Farringdon's The Widow, by Bereavement, out of Mourning, ten pounds extra. AGATHA POSKET. Yes, Charley, and in less than a month I went triumphantly over the course. But, Charley dear, I didn't carry the fair weight for age--and that's my trouble. CHARLOTTE. Oh, dear! AGATHA POSKET. Undervaluing Æneas' love, in a moment of, I hope, not unjustifiable vanity, I took five years from my total, which made me thirty-one on my wedding morning. CHARLOTTE.