Jeyes.
With a grunt. Oh? Looking round. Flowers.
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Eaps of ’em, ain’t there?
Roper.
Jerking his head towards the writing-table. Yes, and some nice presents over here.
Mrs. Upjohn.
She’s beat ’er record this year, Lil ’as, out an’ out.
Jeyes goes to the writing-table and Roper and Mrs. Upjohn rise and wander away, the former to the conservatory, the latter to the settee by the piano.
Jeyes.