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. [_To MRS. UPJOHN._] H'sh, h'sh, h'sh! MRS. UPJOHN. [_Walking about._] No, I won't 'ush! JIMMIE. [_To LILY, quietly._] I'll come back in the afternoon. 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. [_Groaning._] Oh-h-h-h! JIMMIE. [_Drawing a long face._] H'm! LILY. [_To JIMMIE._] Oh, Jimmie-- stay----! [_The knocking is repeated. JIMMIE retreats to the right as MRS. UPJOHN goes to the door and opens it. ROPER is outside._ ROPER. [_Entering, in high spirits._] Hullo, hullo, hullo, hul-lo! [_Embracing MRS. UPJOHN._] Morning, Ma! [_Advancing._] Any _more_ bids for the handsome gilt candelabra with the crystal drops? Ha, ha, ha! [_To JIMMIE._] Morning, Jimmie! [_Looking down, upon LILY, eagerly._] Well, Lil! Well, my pet! LILY. [_In a weary tone, giving him the tips of her fingers and then turning upon her side with her face to the back of the settee._] How are you, Uncle Lal? ROPER. [_Chilled._] Oh, I-- thank you, Lil-- [_After a short pause, to MRS. UPJOHN-- glancing at LILY._] Not up to much to-day? MRS. UPJOHN. [_Glumly._] No great shakes. ROPER. Dancing too hard, I 'spect. MRS. UPJOHN. A deal too 'ard. ROPER. [_After another pause._] Anything else amiss, Ma? MRS. UPJOHN. [_Sitting upon the box-ottoman-- to JIMMIE, who is at the piano examining some of the music._] _You_ tell Lal, Jimmie. ROPER. T-t-tell--? [_To JIMMIE, who comes to the settee-- apprehensively._] Jimmie----! JIMMIE. [_Behind the settee, gravely._] No, the old Pandora isn't going to score _this_ time, Lal. ROPER. Isn't going to--? I d-d-don't follow you. MRS. UPJOHN. Be plain, Jimmie. JIMMIE. [_Endeavouring to relieve the situation._] Ha, ha! Nature's taken precious good care of that, in my case. ROPER. [_Angrily._] Now, look here, Jimmie! A jest is a capital thing in its way. No man has a keener sense of humour than Lal Roper. But there _are_ occasions when it's out o' place, and this is one of 'em, my dear; and if it's not putting you to serious inconvenience----