The Magistrate Part 56

No wife of mine sups, unknown to me, with dissolute military men; we will have a judicial separation, Mrs. Posket.

AGATHA POSKET.

Certainly--I suppose you'll manage that at your police court, too?

MR. POSKET.

I shall send for my solicitor at once.

AGATHA POSKET.

aeneas! Mr. Posket! Whatever happens, you shall not have the custody of my boy.

MR. POSKET.

Your boy! _I_ take charge of _him?_ Agatha Posket, he has been my evil genius! He has made me a gambler at an atrocious game, called "Fireworks"--he has tortured my mind with abstruse speculations concerning "Sillikin" and "b.u.t.terscotch" for the St. Leger--he has caused me to cower before servants, and to fly before the police.

AGATHA POSKET.

He! My Cis?

_CIS enters having changed his clothes._

CIS.

[_Breezily._] Hallo, mater--got back?

AGATHA POSKET.

You wicked boy! You dare to have apartments at the "Hotel des Princes!"

MR. POSKET.

Yes--and it was to put a stop to that which induced me to go to Meek Street last night.

CIS.

Don't be angry, mater! I've got you out of your difficulties.

MR. POSKET.

But you got me into mine!

CIS.

Well, I know I did--one can't be always doing the right thing! It isn't Guv's fault--there!

MR. POSKET.

Swear it!

AGATHA POSKET.

No, he doesn't know the nature of an oath! I believe him! aeneas, I see now, this is all the result of a lack of candour on my part. Tell me, have you ever particularly observed this child?

MR. POSKET.

Oh!

AGATHA POSKET.

Has it ever struck you he is a little forward?

MR. POSKET.

Sometimes.

AGATHA POSKET.

You are wrong; he is awfully backward. [_Taking MR. POSKET'S hand._]

aeneas; men always think they are marrying angels, and women would be angels if they never had to grow old. That warps their dispositions. I have deceived you, aeneas.

MR. POSKET.

Ah! Lukyn!

AGATHA POSKET.

No--no--you don't understand! Lukyn was my boy's G.o.dfather in eighteen sixty-six.

MR. POSKET.

1866?

CIS.

1886?

CIS AND MR. POSKET.

[_Together, reckoning rapidly upon their fingers._] 1886.

AGATHA POSKET.

S-s-s-h! Don't count! Cis, go away! [_To MR. POSKET._] When you proposed to me in the "Pantheon" at Spa, you particularly remarked, "Mrs. Farringdon, I love you for yourself _alone."_

MR. POSKET.