Listen. [_Reading._] "It will be especially delightful to me, as I believe I am an old friend of your wife and of her first husband. You may recall me to her recollection by reminding her that I am the Captain Lukyn who stood sponsor to her boy when he was christened at Baroda." AGATHA POSKET. [_Giving a loud scream._] Oh! MR. POSKET. My dear! AGATHA POSKET. I've twisted my foot. MR. POSKET. How _do_ nuts come into the drawing-room? CHARLOTTE. [_Quietly to AGATHA POSKET._] Aggy? AGATHA POSKET. [_To CHARLOTTE._] The boy's god-father. CHARLOTTE. When was the child christened? AGATHA POSKET. A month after he was born. They always are. MR. POSKET. [_Reading the letter again._] This is _very_ pleasant. AGATHA POSKET. [_To MR. POSKET._] Let--let me see the letter, I--I may recognise the handwriting. MR. POSKET. [_Handing her the letter._] Certainly, my pet. [_To himself._] Awakened memories of Number One. That's the worst of marrying a widow; somebody is always proving her previous convictions. AGATHA POSKET. [_To CHARLOTTE._] "No. 19a, Cork Street!" Charley, put on your things and come with me. CHARLOTTE. Agatha, you're mad! AGATHA POSKET. 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._ MR. POSKET. Bless me! AGATHA POSKET. We have known each other for six long years. MR. POSKET. Only six weeks, my love. AGATHA POSKET. Weeks _are_ years in close friendship. My place is by her side. MR. POSKET. [_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. Don't be so forgetful, Æneas--don't you know that in a four-wheeled cab, the fewer knees there are the better. [_AGATHA POSKET and CHARLOTTE go out._ _CIS comes in hurriedly._ CIS. What's the matter, Guv? MR. POSKET. Your mother and Miss Verrinder are going out. CIS. Out of their minds? It's a horrid night. MR. POSKET. Yes, but Lady Jenkins is ill. CIS. Oh! Is ma mentioned in the will? MR. POSKET.