No, certainly not. [_To herself, watching them._] If I could only persuade Æneas to dismiss this _protégée_ of his, and to engage a music-master, it would ease my conscience a little. If this girl knew the truth, how indignant she would be! And then there is the injustice to the boy himself, and to my husband's friends who are always petting and fondling and caressing what they call "a fine little man of fourteen!" Fourteen! Oh, what an idiot I have been to conceal my child's real age! [_Looking at the clock._] Charlotte is late; I wish she would come. It will be a relief to worry her with my troubles. MR. POSKET. [_Talking outside._] We smoke all over the house, Bullamy, all over the house. AGATHA POSKET. I will speak to Æneas about this little girl, at any rate. _Enter MR. POSKET, a mild gentleman of about fifty, smoking a cigarette, followed by MR. BULLAMY, a fat, red-faced man with a bronchial cough and general huskiness._ MR. POSKET. Smoke anywhere, Bullamy--smoke anywhere. MR. BULLAMY. Not with my bronchitis, thank ye. MR. POSKET. [_Beaming at AGATHA POSKET._] Ah, my darling! MR. BULLAMY. [_Producing a small box from his waistcoat pocket._] All I take after dinner is a jujube--sometimes two. [_Offering the box._] May I tempt Mrs. Posket? AGATHA POSKET. No, thank you. [_Treading on one of the nuts which have been scattered over the room._] How provoking--who brings nuts into the drawing-room? MR. POSKET. Miss Tomlinson still here? [_To BEATIE._] Don't go, don't go. Glad to see Cis so fond of his music. Your sister Charlotte is behind her time, my darling. AGATHA POSKET. Her train is delayed, I suppose. MR. POSKET. You must stay and see my sister-in-law, Bullamy. MR. BULLAMY. Pleasure--pleasure! MR. POSKET. _I_ have never met her yet, we will share first impressions. In the interim, will Miss Tomlinson delight us with a little music? MR. BULLAMY. [_Bustling up to the piano._] If this young lady is going to sing she might like one of my jujubes. [_BEATIE sits at the piano with CIS and MR. BULLAMY on each side of her. MR. POSKET treads on a nut as he walks over to his wife._ MR. POSKET. Dear me--how come nuts into the drawing-room? [_To AGATHA._] Of what is my darling thinking so deeply? [_Treads on another nut._] Another! My pet, there are nuts on the drawing-room carpet! AGATHA POSKET. Yes, I want to speak to you, Æneas. MR. POSKET. About the nuts? AGATHA POSKET. No--about Miss Tomlinson--your little _protégée._ MR. POSKET. Ah, nice little thing. AGATHA POSKET. Very. But not old enough to exert any decided influence over the boy's musical future. Why not engage a master? MR. POSKET. What, for a mere child? AGATHA POSKET. A mere child--oh! MR. POSKET. A boy of fourteen! AGATHA POSKET. [_To herself._] Fourteen! MR. POSKET. A boy of fourteen, not yet out of Czerny's exercises. AGATHA POSKET. [_To herself._] If we were alone now, I might have the desperation to tell him all! MR. POSKET.