Exactly. Catani’s and a top, back bedroom in Jermyn Street, and hanging about the Pandora; that’s Nicko Jeyes’s life.
Farncombe.
He’s an old friend of Mrs. Upjohn’s and Miss Parradell’s too, isn’t he?
Roper.
Evasively. Known ’em some time. That’s it; Lily’s so faithful to her old friends.
Farncombe.
Smiling. You oughtn’t to complain of that.
Roper.
Oh, but I’m a real friend. I’ve always been a patron of the musical drama—it’s my fad; and I’ve kept an eye on Lily from the moment she sprang into prominence— singing “Mind the paint! Mind the paint!” —looked after her like a father. Uncle Lal she calls me. Reassuringly. I’m a married man, you know; Farncombe nods but the wife has plenty to occupy her with the kids and she leaves the drama to me. She prefers Bexhill. Leaning forward and speaking with great earnestness. Farncombe, what a charming creature!
Farncombe.