Lily.
Coldly. I didn’t bring this to the theatre.
Farncombe.
No?
Lily.
I found it with a lot of other flowers at the stage-door. It’s from the gallery boys—looking at him for a moment steadily—and I attach some value to it.
The bearded waiter enters at the right-hand door at the back, takes a box of cigars from the counter, and goes out at the door on the left. Lily walks away from Farncombe and seats herself upon the further settee in the centre.
Farncombe.
After the waiter has withdrawn, producing his programme. Number Nine. “Two Step. Mind the Paint.” To Lily. Of course, you—you are engaged for this?
Lily.