The dear old guv'nor! Why, he is too good-natured to say "Bo!" to a goose. You know, Beatie, I was at a school at Brighton when ma got married--when she got married the second time, I mean--and the guv'nor and I didn't make each other's acquaintance till after the honeymoon. BEATIE. Oh, fancy your step-father blindly accepting such a responsibility. [_Gives him a cobnut to crack for her._ CIS. Yes, wasn't the guv'nor soft! I might have been a very indifferent sort of young fellow for all he knew. [_Having cracked the nut with his teeth, he returns it to her._ BEATIE. Thank you, dear. CIS. Well, when I heard the new dad was a police magistrate, I _was_ scared. Said I to myself, "If I don't mind my P's and Q's, the guv'nor--from force of habit--will fine me all my pocket-money." But it's quite the reverse--he's the mildest, meekest----[_The door opens suddenly._] Look out! Some one coming! [_They both jump up, BEATIE scattering the nuts that are in her lap all over the floor. CIS throws his cigarette into the fireplace and sits at the piano, playing a simple exercise, very badly. BEATIE stands behind him counting._ BEATIE. One--and two--and one--and two. _WYKE, the butler, appears at the door, and mysteriously closes it after him._ WYKE. Ssss! Master Cis! Master Cis! CIS. Hallo--what is it, Wyke? WYKE. [_Producing a decanter from under his coat._] The port wine what you asked for, sir. I couldn't get it away before--the old gentlemen do hug port wine so. CIS. Got a glass? WYKE. Yes, sir. [_Producing wine-glass from his pocket, and pouring out wine._] What ain't missed ain't mourned, eh, Master Cis? CIS. [_Offering wine._] Here you are, Beatie dear. BEATIE. The idea of such a thing! I couldn't! CIS. Why not? BEATIE. If I merely sipped it I shouldn't be able to give you your music lesson properly. Drink it yourself, you dear, thoughtful boy. CIS. I shan't--it's for you. BEATIE. I can't drink it! CIS. You must. BEATIE. I won't! CIS. You're disagreeable! BEATIE. Not half so disagreeable as you are. [_They wrangle._ WYKE. [_To himself, watching them._] What a young gentleman it is! and only fourteen! Fourteen--he behaves like forty! [_CIS chokes as he is drinking the wine; BEATIE pats him on the back._] Why, even Cook has made a 'ash of everything, since he's been in the house, and as for Popham----! [_Seeing some one approaching._] Look out, Master Cis! [_CIS returns to the piano, BEATIE counting as before. WYKE pretends to arrange the window curtains, concealing the decanter behind him._ BEATIE. One and two--and one and two--and one, &c. _Enter POPHAM, a smart-looking maid-servant._ POPHAM. Wyke, where's the port? WYKE. [_Vacantly._] Port? POPHAM. Port wine. Missus is furious. WYKE. Port? POPHAM. [_Pointing to the decanter._] Why! There! You're carrying it about with you! WYKE.