Lily.
Impulsively, kneeling upon the settee so that she may compare her programme with his. Look here! Fifteen—the last but one. Are you fixed up for Fifteen?
Farncombe.
No.
Lily.
No!
Farncombe.
I kept it open—in case——
Lily.
Merrily. Ha, ha—! Checking herself, severely. I might be able to give you Fifteen. Farncombe scribbles on his programme eagerly. Don’t count on it, please; but it’s booked to Mr. Fulkerson, and Bertie’s not always to be depended upon at that hour.