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.
Sitting on the settee in front of the writing-table. All said an’ done, to be Lady F., with no need to work if you’re not disposed to, is better than bein’ Mrs. Captain Jeyes an’ ’avin’ to linger on the stage, p’r’aps, till you drop, to ’elp keep the pot a’ boilin’. Opening her eyes widely. Lady F.!
Roper.
Coming to her. And Countess of Godalming when his father dies.
Mrs. Upjohn.
I s’pose there’d be any amount of unpleasantness with the fam’ly?
Roper.
Disdainfully. The family!
Mrs. Upjohn.
There’s generally a rumpus in sech cases.
Roper.
Why, Ma, these tiptop families ought to feel jolly grateful that we’re mixing the breed for them a bit. Look at the two lads who’ve married Gwennie Harker and Maidie Trevail—Kinterton and Glenroy; and Fawcus—Sir George Fawcus—Eva Shafto’s husband; they haven’t a chin or a forehead between ’em, and their chests are as narrow as a ten-inch plank.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Quite true.
Roper.
Farncombe himself, he’s inclined to be weedy. I maintain it’s a grand thing for our English nobs that their slips of sons have taken to marrying young women of the stamp of Maidie Trevail and Gwennie Harker—or Lil; keen-witted young women full of the joy of life, with strong frames, beautiful hair and fine eyes, and healthy pink gums and big white teeth. Sneer at the Pandora girls! Great Scot, it’s my belief that the Pandora girls’ll be the salvation of the aristocracy in this country in the long run!
Captain Nicholas Jeyes lounges in. He is a man of about five-and-thirty, already slightly grey-haired, who has gone to seed. Roper sits in the chair in the middle of the room rather guiltily and Mrs. Upjohn puts on a propitiatory grin.
Jeyes.
Nodding to Mrs. Upjohn and Roper as he closes the door. Afternoon, Mrs. Upjohn. How’r’you, Roper?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Ah, Captain!
Roper.
Hullo, Nicko!
Jeyes.
Advancing. Lily not in?
Mrs. Upjohn.
No; she’s in Fitzroy Street, settin’ to Morgan.
Jeyes.
Frowning. Why didn’t she ask me to go with her?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Dun’no, I’m sure. She’s took Miss Birch.
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.
Scowling at the presents. Very nice. Picking up a case of jewellery. Ve-ry nice. Throwing the case down angrily. Confound ’em, what the devil do they take her for!
Roper.
At the entrance to the conservatory. I may remark that one of those gifts is from me, Jeyes.
Jeyes.
Oh, I’m not alluding to you.
Roper.
Stiffly. Much obliged.
Jeyes.
Coming forward and addressing Mrs. Upjohn. I’ve called in to ask Lily whether she’ll come out to supper with me to-night, to Catani’s, to celebrate her birthday. Luigi’s decorating a table for me specially. Mr. and Mrs. Linthorne’ll come, and Jack Wethered. To Roper. Are you free, Roper? Mrs. Upjohn sits uneasily on the settee by the piano and Roper finds some object to interest him near the tea-table. I suppose it’s no good asking you, Mrs. Upjohn?
Mrs. Upjohn.
N-n-o, thank you, Captain, and I—I’m afraid——
Jeyes.
Afraid——?
Mrs. Upjohn.
I’m afraid Lil can’t manage it either.
Jeyes.
Why not?
Mrs. Upjohn.
I—I’m surprised she didn’t mention it to you ’erself when you brought ’er ’ome last night.
Jeyes.
Mention what?
Mrs. Upjohn.
They’re givin’ ’er a supper to-night at the theatre.
Jeyes.
The theatre?
Roper.
Advancing. Yes, Carlton’s standing a little spread in the foyer, in honour of the occasion. Sitting at the tea-table. Quite right too; she’s his best asset, and chance it.
Jeyes.
When was it fixed up?
Roper.
Late last night.
Jeyes.
The fact is, Lily and I had a slight tiff coming home
