Falling into despondency. Oh, I dare say I’m a fool for my pains, Ma. Nothing’ll come of it. Rising and pacing the room again. Farncombe’s as shy as a school-girl; he’d be on a desert island with a pretty woman for a month without squeezing her hand.
Mrs. Upjohn.
In an altered tone. Uncle.
Roper.
Hullo!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Thoughtfully. I shouldn’t raise any objection, bear in mind, if Lil could be weaned away from the Captain and took a fancy to young Farncombe.
Roper.
Objection!
Mrs. Upjohn.