This chap’s in love with her.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Oh, they’re all in love with ’er; or ’ave been, one time or another.
Roper.
Yes, but they’re not all Farncombes and they’re not all marrying men. I’m prepared to bet my boots that if Lil and young Farncombe could be thrown together——! Sitting on the settee in front of the writing-table as Mrs. Upjohn rises and comes forward. Here! Do talk it over.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Placidly. Where’s the use o’ talkin’ it over? It’s wastin’ one’s breath. Moving to the settee by the piano. My Lil doesn’t want to marry—any’ow not yet awhile; she’s ’appy and contented as she is. Sitting and smoothing out her skirt. When she does, I s’pose it’ll be the Captain.
Roper.
Between his teeth. The Captain! Quietly. Ma, the day Lil marries Nicko Jeyes, you and she’ll see the last o’ me.
Mrs. Upjohn.