Slowly advancing to the table in the centre—avoiding his gaze. Is—is Jimmie aware of precisely what’s in your note?
Farncombe.
Y-y-yes. Drawing nearer to her. I hope you won’t be angry with me for confiding in her. You see, I—I——
Lily.
At the further side of the table, fingering one of the objects upon it. And she’ll confide in Uncle Lal. Shrugging her shoulders. Oh, but dear old Lal appears to have summed up the situation pretty accurately as it is. With an artificial little laugh. Ha, ha, ha! Well, I’m afraid they’ll be horribly disappointed, poor wretches.
Farncombe.
Blankly. Disap-pointed?
Lily.
Raising her eyes to his and shaking her head at him. You—you silly boy!
Farncombe.