Glancing at the writing-table. She seems to have received a lot of jewellery.
Roper.
Bustling across to the table. By Jove, doesn’t she! Ah, there’s my brooch!
Farncombe.
Modestly. I didn’t consider I’d a right to offer her anything but flowers, on so slight an acquaintance.
Roper.
Exactly; but I’m an old friend, you know. Turning to Farncombe. Perhaps, by her next birthday——
Farncombe.
Smiling. I hope so.
Roper.