Why—why don’t you put me out of my misery?
Lily.
Munching. Poison you?
Jeyes.
Marry me.
Lily.
Behind his chair. Marry you? Taking his handkerchief from his breast-pocket and wiping her fingers upon it—sarcastically. Have you come to tell me you’ve got some work to do at last? Break it gently, Nicko; the shock might be too great for me.
Jeyes.
Oh, I’d find a billet soon enough, Lil, if only I’d an incentive to hunt for it.
Lily.