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.