[_Annoyed._] Don't be an idiot, Karl. [_To DE CASTRO, who is talking to FARNCOMBE._] Sam, will _you_ fetch me some soda-water? VON RETTENMAYER. [_To ENID, bestirring himself._] I beg bardon. [_He goes out, with DE CASTRO. ENID has taken the mirror from the table and now looks at herself in it._ ENID. What a sight! [_To GABRIELLE._] I wonder whether Lil would mind me going into her bedroom? GABRIELLE. [_Taking the mirror from ENID._] Of course she wouldn't. [_Viewing herself with dismay._] Oh, I'm yellower than you! [_She jumps up, throwing the mirror upon the settee, and goes to the door in the centre. ENID follows her and the two girls open the door narrowly and withdraw. JIMMIE rises and picks up the mirror._ JIMMIE. [_With one knee upon the settee, surveying herself._] Ugh, you lovely creature! [_Glancing at FARNCOMBE as she readjusts a comb, and finding that he is gazing at her earnestly._] Turn your face to the wall, please; I'm about to use my puff. [_Suddenly, with rapid movements, he shuts the door on the left, gives a quick look at DAPHNE, assures himself that the centre door is closed, and comes to JIMMIE. She stares at him in astonishment._ FARNCOMBE. [_Standing at the back of the settee-- in a low voice._] Miss Birch, you're Miss Parradell's friend-- her great friend. Will you be a friend of mine too, and do me a service? JIMMIE. [_Startled._] It-- it all depends---- FARNCOMBE. Beg her to allow me to remain behind, with you, for a few minutes after the others have gone. JIMMIE. Remain-- you and I? FARNCOMBE. And then, if she will, will you wait in the next room while I speak to her? Miss Birch, I-- I must speak to her. JIMMIE. W-w-wouldn't-- to-morrow----? FARNCOMBE. It _is_ to-morrow _now_. It's day. JIMMIE. [_Dropping her eyes._] She's tired. FARNCOMBE. Five minutes-- no longer. [_Entreatingly._] Won't you try to arrange it for me? JIMMIE. [_Pursing her lips._] H'm! _I'd_ stay; delighted. [_Demurely._] It doesn't matter how tired _I_ feel. FARNCOMBE. [_Contritely._] I'm a brute! JIMMIE. But I really think the _arranging_ is your job, Lord Farncombe. FARNCOMBE. I know I should make a bungle of it with all these people round me, and attract attention. _You're_ clever. JIMMIE. [_Raising her eyes to his, abruptly._] Look here! Do I guess correctly? FARNCOMBE. What----? [_She pulls him towards her and whispers into his ear. He nods. She whispers again, breathlessly, and then releases him._ JIMMIE. Eh? Eh? FARNCOMBE. [_Drawing back and facing her, firmly._] Yes. JIMMIE. [_Walking away, in a flutter._] Oh! Oh! Oh! FARNCOMBE. You'll help me? [_She pauses, deliberating._] You'll help me? JIMMIE.