Mrs. Upjohn.
Walking about. No, I won’t ’ush!
Jimmie.
To Lily, quietly. I’ll come back in the afternoon.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Lil seems to ’ave got some maggot or other in ’er brain about drawin’ Lord Farncombe into ’er net. Net indeed! Jimmie, not heeding Mrs. Upjohn, arranges Lily comfortably upon the settee and then rises and smoothes out her skirt preparatory to departure. As Lal Roper was sayin’ yesterday, our tiptop, aristocratic English fam’lies ought to be ’xtremely grateful that strong, ’ealthy perfeshunals o’ the class of Miss ’Arker an’ Miss Trevail an’ Miss Shafto are enterin’ their ranks. An’ if Lil chooses to be pig-’eaded enough——! Jimmie makes a movement towards Mrs. Upjohn. ’Ave a bottle o’ ginger beer before you go. There is a prolonged, playful knocking at the door on the left followed, on the part of those in the room, by a gloomy pause. That is Lal.
Lily.
Groaning. Oh-h-h-h!
Jimmie.
Drawing a long face. H’m!