Eh? Eh?
Farncombe.
Drawing back and facing her, firmly. Yes.
Jimmie.
Walking away, in a flutter. Oh! Oh! Oh!
Farncombe.
You’ll help me? She pauses, deliberating. You’ll help me?
Jimmie.
Returning to him, with an air of prudence. I tell you what I will do. Pointing to the writing-table. Scribble her a note—a line—and I’ll give it to her. That won’t attract attention. I’ve no objection to do that for you. Hurry up! He sits at the writing-table and searches for writing materials. In the drawer. He opens a drawer and takes out a sheet of note-paper. Standing at the other side of the table, she selects a pen and hands it to him. A “J” suit you?
Farncombe.