Knitting her brow thoughtfully. I suppose you ought to give her an inkling, though—the merest hint—of the reason, oughtn’t you?
Farncombe.
Looking up. Ought I?
Jimmie.
Well, you don’t want her to think it’s only to chat about the weather——!
Farncombe.
For heaven’s sake, don’t chaff me! writing “—after the others have gone?” Biting his pen. How would this do? “I know I am presuming a lot, but I—I can’t leave you—I can’t leave you till I—till I have asked you—till I have asked you the most important question a man can put to a woman.”
Jimmie.
Oh, but that’s ideal! Gabrielle reappears. Dash these girls! To Gabrielle, whose complexion is much improved. Lord Farncombe is writing me out a remedy for freckles. Isn’t it sweet of him?
Gabrielle.