No, no, no; Lily. [_Hastily._] Oh, and so's my missus, for that matter, when she chooses. But Lily Upjohn----! FARNCOMBE. [_In a low voice._] Beautiful; perfectly beautiful. ROPER. Yes, and as good as she's beautiful; you take it from me. [_With a wave of the hand._] Well, if you see Jeyes, you won't----? FARNCOMBE. Not a word. ROPER. [_Rising and walking away to the left._] I've warned the others. [_Returning to FARNCOMBE who has also risen._] By-the-bye, if Lily should mention the supper in the course of conversation, remember, _she's_ not in the conspiracy. FARNCOMBE. Conspiracy? ROPER. To shunt Nicko. We're letting her think there are to be no outsiders. FARNCOMBE. [_Becoming slightly puzzled by ROPER'S manner._] Why, would she very much like Captain Jeyes to be asked? ROPER. [_Rather impatiently._] Haven't I told you, once you're a friend of Lil's----! [_Looking towards the door._] Is this Ma? [_MRS. UPJOHN enters._] Hul-lo, Ma! MRS. UPJOHN. [_A podgy little, gaily dressed woman of five-and-fifty with a stupid, good-humoured face._] 'Ullo, Uncle! ROPER. Lord Farncombe---- MRS. UPJOHN. [_Advancing and shaking hands with FARNCOMBE._] Glad to see you 'ere again. You _'ave_ been before, 'aven't you? FARNCOMBE. Last week. MRS. UPJOHN. Of course; you came with Mr. Bertie Fulkerson. But somebody or other's always poppin' in. [_Pleasantly._] Lil sees too many, _I_ say. It's tirin' for 'er. Won't you set? ROPER. Lord Farncombe's brought Lily some flowers, Ma. [_To FARNCOMBE._] Where are they? FARNCOMBE. [_Who, after waiting for MRS. UPJOHN to settle herself upon the settee in front of the writing-table, sits in the chair at the end of the settee-- pointing to a large basket of flowers._] On the piano. MRS. UPJOHN. [_Barely glancing at the flowers._] 'Ow kind of 'im! Sech a waste o' money too! They do go off so quick. ROPER. [_Reading the cards attached to the various floral gifts._] Where _is_ Lil? MRS. UPJOHN. She's settin' to a risin' young artist in Fitzroy Street-- Claude Morgan. She won't be 'ome till past five. So tirin' for 'er. ROPER. Never heard of Morgan. MRS. UPJOHN. No, nor anybody else. That's what I tell 'er. Why waste your time givin' settin's to a risin' young artist when the big men 'ud go down on their 'ands and knees to do you? But that's Lil all over. She's the best-natured girl in the world, and so she gets imposed on all round. FARNCOMBE. [_Gallantly._] I prophesy that Mr. Morgan's picture of Miss Parradell won't have dried before he's quite famous. MRS. UPJOHN. [_Turning a pair of dull eyes full upon him._] 'Ow do you mean? FARNCOMBE. [_Disconcerted._] Er-- I mean-- MRS. UPJOHN. _Why_ won't it 'ave dried? FARNCOMBE. I mean he will have become celebrated _before_ it has dried. MRS. UPJOHN. 'Is pictures never do dry, you mean? ROPER. No, no, Ma! MRS. UPJOHN. 'Owever, it doesn't matter. 'E isn't even goin' to put 'er name to it. ROPER. Why not? MRS. UPJOHN.