Why, so I am! Carrying it about with me! Shows what a sharp eye I keep on the guv'nor's wines. Carrying it about with me! Missus will be amused. [_Goes out._ POPHAM. [_Eyeing CIS and BEATIE._] There's that boy with _her_ again! Minx! Her two hours was up long ago. Why doesn't she go home? Master Cis, I've got a message for you. CIS. [_Rising from the piano._] For me, Popham? POPHAM. Yes, sir. [_Quietly to him._] The message is from a young lady who up to last Wednesday was all in all to you. Her name is Emma Popham. CIS. [_Trying to get away._] Oh, go along, Popham! POPHAM. [_Holding his sleeve._] Ah, it wasn't "Go along, Popham" till that music girl came into the house. I will go along, but--cast your eye over this before you sleep to-night. [_She takes out of her pocket-handkerchief a piece of printed paper which she hands him between her finger and thumb._] Part of a story in "Bow Bells," called "Jilted; or, Could Blood Atone?" Wrap it in your handkerchief--it came round the butter. [_She goes out; CIS throws the paper into the grate._ CIS. Bother the girl! Beatie, she's jealous of you! BEATIE. A parlour-maid jealous of _me_--and with a bit of a child of fourteen! CIS. I may be only fourteen, but I feel like a grown-up man! You're only sixteen--there's not much difference--and if you will only wait for me, I'll soon catch you up and be as much a man as you are a woman. Will you wait for me, Beatie? BEATIE. I can't--I'm getting older every minute! CIS. Oh, I wish I could borrow five or six years from somebody! BEATIE. Many a person would be glad to lend them. [_Lovingly._] And oh, I wish you could! CIS. [_Putting his arm round her._] You do! Why? BEATIE. Because I--because---- CIS. [_Listening._] Look out! Here's the mater! [_They run to the piano, he resumes playing, and she counting as before._ BEATIE. One and two--and one--and two, &c. _Enter AGATHA POSKET, a handsome, showy woman, of about thirty-six, looking perhaps younger._ AGATHA POSKET. Why, Cis child, at your music again? CIS. Yes, ma, always at it. You'll spoil my taste by forcing it if you're not careful. AGATHA POSKET. We have no right to keep Miss Tomlinson so late. BEATIE. Oh, thank you, it doesn't matter. I--I--am afraid we're not making--very--great--progress. CIS. [_Winking at BEATIE._] Well, if I play that again, will you kiss me? BEATIE. [_Demurely._] I don't know, I'm sure. [_To AGATHA POSKET._] May I promise that, ma'am? [_Sits in the window recess. CIS, joining her, puts his arm round her waist._ AGATHA POSKET.