BEATIE. How dare you speak of Master Farringdon in that familiar way? POPHAM. How dare I? Because me and him formed an attachment before ever you darkened our doors. [_Taking a folded printed paper from her pocket._] You may put down the iron 'eel too heavy, Miss Tomlinson. I refer you to _Bow Bells_--"First Love is Best Love; or, The Earl's Choice." [_As POPHAM offers the paper, CIS enters, looking very pale, worn-out, and dishevelled._ POPHAM AND BEATIE. Oh! CIS. [_Staggering to a chair._] Where's the mater? POPHAM. Not home yet. CIS. Thank giminy! BEATIE. He's ill! POPHAM. Oh! [_BEATIE, assisted by POPHAM, quickly wheels the large armchair forward, they catch hold of CIS and place him in it, he submits limply._ BEATIE. [_Taking CIS'S hand._] What is the matter, Cis dear? Tell Beatie. POPHAM. [_Taking his other hand._] Well, I'm sure! Who's given you raisins and ketchup from the store cupboard? Come back to Emma! [_CIS, with his eyes closed, gives a murmur._ BEATIE. He's whispering! [_They both bob their heads down to listen._ POPHAM. He says his head's a-whirling. BEATIE. Put him on the sofa. [_They take off his boots, loosen his necktie, and dab his forehead with water out of a flower-vase._ CIS. I--I--I wish you two girls would leave off. BEATIE. He's speaking again. He hasn't had any breakfast! He's hungry! POPHAM. Hungry! I thought he looked thin! Wait a minute, dear! Emma Popham knows what her boy fancies! [_She runs out of the room._ CIS. Oh, Beatie, hold my head while I ask you something. BEATIE. Yes, darling! CIS. No lady would marry a gentleman who had been a convict, would she? BEATIE. No; certainly not! CIS. I thought not! Well, Beatie, I've been run after by a policeman. BEATIE. [_Leaving him._] Oh! CIS. Not caught, you know, only run after; and, walking home from Hendon this morning, I came to the conclusion that I ought to settle down in life. Beatie--could I write out a paper promising to marry you when I'm one-and-twenty? BEATIE. Don't be a silly boy--of course you could. CIS. Then I shall; and when I feel inclined to have a spree, I shall think of that paper and say, "Cis Farringdon, if you ever get locked up, you'll lose the most beautiful girl in the world." BEATIE. And so you will. [_He goes to the writing-table._ CIS. I'd better write it now, before my head gets well again. [_He writes; she bends over him._ BEATIE. You simple, foolish, Cis! If your head is so queer, shall I tell you what to say? _POPHAM enters, carrying a tray with breakfast dishes._ POPHAM. [_To herself._] He won't think so much of _her_ now. His breakfast is my triumph. [_To CIS._] Coffee, bacon, and a teacake. BEATIE. Hush! Master Farringdon is writing something very important. POPHAM. [_Going to the window._] That's a cab at our door. CIS. It must be the mater--I'm off! [_He picks up his boots and goes out quickly._ BEATIE.