Ha, ha, ha----! [_They face one another, laughing, and then she sits upon the fauteuil-stool and drops her head upon the table and he fetches his hat and cane from the box-ottoman._ LILY. [_Weeping._] Nicko-- Nicko----! JEYES. [_Coming to her._] Oh, this isn't good-bye, Lil, not by any manner o' means, my dear. We'll kill the fatted calf several times before I start-- you, I, and the boy. Besides, by-and-by, you and he must take a trip and come out to see me. "Seringa Vale" is the farm where I shall be quartered, Bob tells me. [_Looking into space._] Jermyn Street to Seringa Vale! [_Shaking himself._] Ph'h, there are no great distances in these days! [_To FARNCOMBE, with a change of tone._] Farncombe-- [_FARNCOMBE comes forward._] You dine with me to-night, recollect; it's an engagement. FARNCOMBE. Yes. JEYES. Eight o'clock. FARNCOMBE. Eight o'clock. JEYES. Catani's. FARNCOMBE. Catani's. [_Without looking at LILY again, JEYES goes to the door and opens it. FARNCOMBE follows him and the two men halt in the doorway._ JEYES. [_To FARNCOMBE, with a motion of his head towards LILY._] And afterwards-- _you_ fetch her from the theatre and take her home. That's _your_ job. LILY. [_Rising._] Oh----! [_FARNCOMBE goes out on to the landing with JEYES and parts from him at the top of the stairs. Then FARNCOMBE slowly returns, closes the door, and finds LILY sitting upon the settee in a woeful attitude._ FARNCOMBE. [_Coming to LILY and standing before her, thoughtfully._] Lily---- LILY. [_Feebly._] Eh-- eh----? FARNCOMBE. I'm afraid there's one thing finer than winning the woman you love and, when you've won her, being prepared to go through fire and water for her. LILY. What's that? FARNCOMBE. Having the courage to give her up, as Jeyes has done. LILY. [_With a renewed outburst._] Oh, Nicko! Poor Nicko! Poor Nicko! FARNCOMBE. [_Sitting beside her and taking her hand consolingly._] By George, he's a brick, isn't he! LILY. [_After a pause, drying her eyes._] Eddie---- FARNCOMBE. Yes? LILY. If-- if ever we marry---- FARNCOMBE. [_His jaw falling._] _If----!_ LILY. W-w-when, then. When we marry, you'll be obliged to resign your commission in the Guards, won't you? FARNCOMBE. [_Snapping his fingers._] P'sh! I shan't care a rap about that. LILY. [_Snatching her hand away._] The snobs! The snobs! They'd let you marry any bit of trash in your own set; but a Pandora girl, though she's as pure as the Queen of England----! Oh, the contemptible snobs! FARNCOMBE. [_Regaining possession of her hand._] H'sh! H'sh! It-- it's the practice---- LILY. Blow the practice! A cheerful reflection for _me_, it'll be. The arrant snobs! FARNCOMBE. [_Stroking her hand._] Ah! Ah! LILY. And then-- poor mother! You-- you won't be very proud of poor mother. FARNCOMBE. Your mother? [_Boyishly._] Oh, she-- she's an awfully good sort. LILY. She hasn't an H. to her name. FARNCOMBE.