Part 73

LILY.

JIMMIE.

LILY.

JIMMIE.

LILY.

MRS. UPJOHN.

Lil, I'm perfec'ly ashamed of you, speakin' to Jimmie Birch in that manner.

LILY.

JIMMIE.

She doesn't mean it.

MRS. UPJOHN.

I 'ope not. It ain't exac'ly pleasant to 'ave a dog in the manger for a daughter. [To LILY.] Why shouldn't young Farncombe turn 'is attention to Miss Birch, pray, or to any young lady who doesn't object to take your leavin's!

JIMMIE.

MRS. UPJOHN.

JIMMIE.

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.

JIMMIE.

LILY.

ROPER.

LILY.

ROPER.

MRS. UPJOHN.

ROPER.

Dancing too hard, I 'spect.

MRS. UPJOHN.

A deal too 'ard.