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necklace. This is my reward for layinā€™ awake ā€™alf the night, is it, anā€™ for thinkinā€™ of you, anā€™ wonderinā€™ about you! Ungrateful little puss, you! Going towards the door. After this, you can keep your affairs to yourself for as long as ever you choose. Donā€™t you expect meā€”ā€”!

Lily.

Suddenly, sitting upon the settee. Motherā€”ā€”!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Sharply. Yes?

Lily.

Her hand to her brow. Oh, motherā€”ā€”!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Hurrying to Lily. Wot is it?

Lily.

Swaying. At lastā€”at lastā€”ā€”!

Mrs. Upjohn.

At lastā€”ā€”?

Lily.

Clinging to Mrs. Upjohn. Iā€™m in love, motherā€”Iā€™m in loveā€”in loveā€”in loveā€”ā€”!

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

THE FOURTH ACT

The scene is the same as in the preceding act, but the light outside is brighter and warmer and in the room is more diffused. On the table in the centre, placed close to the settee, there is a small tray with a breakfast of tea and toast upon it. The bedroom door is partly open.

Lily, wan and red-eyed, is lying, propped up by cushions, upon the settee. A newspaper is on her lap but she is gazing at vacancy. She is in nĆ©gligĆ©. A dainty morning-robe covers her night-gown, her bare feet are in slippers, and her hair is in a simple knot. Maud is at one of the drawers of the cupboard at the back, engaged in selecting some articles of lingerie, and Mrs. Upjohn, completely dressed for the day, is sitting in the arm-chair by the centre table, her face hidden by a newspaper which she is reading. Presently Maud shuts the drawer and, carrying the lingerie, comes forward.

Maud.

To Lily. What frockā€™ll you put on?

Lily.

Starting slightly. Eh?

Maud.

One of your embroidered muslins, or your Ninon?

Lily.

Languidly. Either; I donā€™t care.

Maud.

Oh, gracious, what on earth is the matter with you this morning! Iā€™ve never known you as queer as this after any hop youā€™ve been to in my time. To Mrs. Upjohn, who has lowered her paper. Nothing wrong, is there?

Lily.

Turning over and burying her head in the cushions. Maud.

Maud.

Moving to the settee and bending over Lily. Here I am, lovey.

Lily.

In a muffled voice. Go into the next room and shut the door, and donā€™t let me see your stupid, fat face till I come to you.

Maud.

Laughing heartily. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! Thatā€™s better. Going to the bedroom door. Thatā€™s how I like to hear her talk. We neednā€™t send for Dr. Gilson yet awhile. Ha, ha, ha!

She disappears into the bedroom and closes the door.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Looking at Lily. Lil.

Lily.

Yes, mother?

Mrs. Upjohn.

ā€™Ave another cup oā€™ tea, wonā€™t you?

Lily.

No.

Mrs. Upjohn.

ā€™Nother bit oā€™ toast, then?

Lily.

No.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Smoke a cigarette.

Lily.

No.

Mrs. Upjohn.

You always do ā€™ave a wā€™iff after your breakfast. Come!

Lily.

No.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Rising and walking away. Oh, dear; oh, dear! Deuce take Carlton Smythe anā€™ ā€™is supper partyā€”those are my sentiments; anā€™ Lal Roper, busybody that ā€™e is! Things were goinā€™ on with us as smooth anā€™ peaceful as could be, before this upset.

Lily.

Raising herself, angrily. You were in it, mother; youā€™re as much to blame as anybody.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Halting. ā€™Ow in it?

Lily.

In Uncle Lalā€™s artful plan to prevent Nicko from being invited. Youā€™ve confessed you were.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Lal twisted me round ā€™is little finger. I was clay in the porterā€™s ā€™and, as your dad was fond of sayinā€™.

Lily.

Changing her position. If only Nicko had been there, I shouldnā€™t have given young Farncombe all those dances, nor wandered about with him in the intervals, nor allowed him to see me home. It all simply wouldnā€™t, couldnā€™t have happened. Hitting a cushion. Oh! Sitting up and embracing her knees. Motherā€”ā€”!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Behind the settee. Wot?

Lily.

Knitting her brows. Iā€”Iā€™m so surprised at myself.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Surprised?

Lily.

Soā€”so disappointed with myself.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Why, you ā€™avenā€™t done anything thatā€”thatā€™s not quite respectable, Lil. On the contā€™ryā€”ā€”

Lily.

No, I havenā€™t done anything thatā€™s actually not nice, butā€”fancy!ā€”ā€”

Mrs. Upjohn.

Close to Lily. Fancyā€”ā€”?

Lily.

Opening her eyes widely. Fancy my letting myself go with young Farncombe as I did! Heā€”heā€™d been admiring me from a distance for weeks and weeks, but Iā€™d scarcely noticed him till last night! Leaning her head against Mrs. Upjohn, softly. Iā€”I always thought I was such a cold girl, mother, inā€”in that way.

Mrs. Upjohn.

I sā€™pose it was wotā€™s called love at first sight, Lil.

Lily.

Laughing shamefacedly. Ha, ha, ha! Putting her feet to the ground and shielding her face with her hands. Oh, donā€™t talk rot, mother.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Moving away. Anyā€™ow, itā€™s not too late, Lilā€”even nowā€”ā€”

Lily.

Not too lateā€”ā€”?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Behind the centre table. To back out, dearie. The Captain couldnā€™t possibly ā€™old you to a ā€™asty promise given ā€™im between four anā€™ five in the morninā€™.

Lily.

Oh! Oh, how can you! Iā€™ve passed my word to Nicko and I wouldnā€™t break it for twenty thousand pounds. Looking up. Motherā€”ā€”!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Fussing with the things upon the table. Yes?

Lily.

Resolutely. Iā€™m going to pull Nicko up, mother. Iā€™ve dragged him down, and I mean to raise him. Clenching her hands. So help me God, I do!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Well, youā€™ve got a tough job before you, Lil, in my opinion.

Lily.

Perhaps; but I mean to succeed. After a pause. Besidesā€”ā€”

Mrs. Upjohn.

Besidesā€”ā€”?

Lily.

Slowly. Iā€™ve told youā€”Nicko or no Nickoā€”Iā€™m determinedā€”Iā€™m determined not to draw Eddie Farncombe into my net.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Into your net? Another pause. Lilā€”ā€”

Lily.

Eh?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Thatā€™s twice youā€™ve made use oā€™ that remark. ā€™Ooā€™s accused youā€”ā€”? There is a lively rat-tat at the door on the left. Come in!

The door opens and Jimmie Birch bounces into the room.

Jimmie.

As she closes the door. Ah, Ma! Ah, Lillums!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Good morninā€™.

Jimmie.

Kissing Mrs. Upjohn. Ha, ha! Weā€™ve met before, this morning, havenā€™t we! Coming to Lily. Well, dear old girl, and how are you to-day? Kissing Lily and then eyeing her keenly. A wreck?

Lily.

Rather.

Jimmie.

I ought to be, but Iā€™m not. Directly I laid my pretty head on my pillow I went off, and never stirred till I found the breakfast-tray on my chest. Reckoning on her fingers. Five to sixā€”six to sevenā€”seven to eightā€”eight to nineā€”nine to tenā€”ten to eleven. Iā€™ve had six hours; thatā€™s not so dusty. To Lily, slyly. You didnā€™t sleep very soundly, probably?

Lily.

Not very.

Jimmie.

Smiling from ear to ear. Excited? Lily shrugs her shoulders. There is a silence and then Jimmie, still beaming, looks round and sees that Mrs. Upjohn has seated herself upon the fauteuil-stool. May I sit down for a minute?

Lily.

Of course, Jimmie; do.

Jimmie sits in the arm-chair by the centre table, awaiting some communication which doesnā€™t come. Mrs. Upjohn drums upon the table with her fingers and Lily busies herself with re-arranging the cushions on the settee.

Jimmie.

After a while. Hope I havenā€™t dropped in too early?

Lily.

Settling her shoulders into the cushions. Not a bit, dear.

Jimmie.

Itā€™s nearly half-past twelve. Iā€”I dashed round. After another pause, unable to restrain herself further. Any news? Any-any-anything to tell me?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Abruptly. Yes.

Jimmie.

W-w-whatā€”ā€”?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Lilā€™s engaged.

Jimmie.

Hah! Triumphantly. Hah, hah! Clapping her hands and beating her feet upon the floor. Hah, hah, hah, hah! Jumping up and sitting beside Lily and hugging and kissing her. Oh! Oh! Oh! Yā€™m! Yā€™m! Yā€™m! Oh, you humbugs! Rising and rushing at Mrs. Upjohn and embracing her. You solemn humbug, Ma! Leaving Mrs. Upjohn and singing and dancing to the refrain sung in the previous Act. ā€œIf you would only, only love me;ā€”ā€ Ha, ha, ha! ā€œIf you would merely, merely say,ā€”ā€”ā€ Her voice gradually dying away as she sees that the expression on Lilyā€™s face, and upon Mrs. Upjohnā€™s, doesnā€™t alter. ā€œWait but a littleā€” standing still littleā€”for meā€”ā€”ā€

Mrs. Upjohn.

Caustically. Yes, you ā€™ad better wait a little; youā€™d better wait till you ā€™ear ā€™oo sheā€™s engaged to.

Jimmie.

Whoā€”to!

Lily.

Studying her nails. Whom to, mother.

Jimmie.

Why, isnā€™t itā€”ā€”?

Mrs. Upjohn.

No, it ainā€™t. Itā€™s the Captain.

Jimmie.

T-t-the Capā€”! To Lily. N-n-nicko? Lily nods. Jimmie draws a deep breath. Oh-h-h-h!

Lily.

Calmly. Nicko turned up here early this morningā€”while Eddieā€”while Lord Farncombe was with me, in factā€”and Iā€”weā€”the three of usā€”we talked matters over, andā€”andā€”ā€”

Jimmie.

Her eyes starting out of her head. Was there a row?

Lily.

Oh, donā€™t be so curious, Jimmie. Poor Nicko has been after me for six years. A girl must play the game, if sheā€™s at all decent and wishes to preserve a shred of self-respect.

Again there is a pause and then Jimmie silently resumes her seat in the arm-chair.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Moistening her lips with her tongueā€”to Jimmie. ā€™Ow do you feel about it?

Jimmie.

Thoughtfully. How do I feel about it? To Lily. May I say?

Lily.

Coldly. Certainly.

Jimmie.

Rubbing the arm of her chair with the palm of her hand. Well, if I were on board a ship at this moment, I should be ringing for the stewardess; thatā€™s how I feel about it.

Lily.

Throwing herself, face downward, at full length upon the settee. Oh! Oh, youā€™re just like the rest of our girls on the question of marriage! Youā€”youā€”youā€™re detestable!

Jimmie.

Sliding out of her chair and kneeling at the settee and putting an arm round Lily. Oh, Lilā€”Lilā€”ā€”!

Lily.

Repulsing her. Yes, you are! Raising herself upon her elbow. Youā€™d rejoice to see me draw this boy into my net, wouldnā€™t you! You know you would. Mrs. Upjohn rises and comes forward. I dare say you jolly well wouldnā€™t object to catching him yourself if youā€™d half a chance! Fiercely. You try it; you try itā€”you, or any of you!

Jimmie.

Attempting to rise, scandalised. Ohā€”ā€”!

Lily.

Holding her. No, noā€”ā€”! Jimmieā€”ā€”!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Lil, Iā€™m perfecā€™ly ashamed of you, speakinā€™ to Jimmie Birch in that manner.

Lily.

Dropping her head on Jimmieā€™s shoulder. Ohā€”ā€”!

Jimmie.

She doesnā€™t mean it.

Mrs. Upjohn.

I ā€™ope not. It ainā€™t exacā€™ly pleasant to ā€™ave a dog in the manger for a daughter. To Lily. Why shouldnā€™t young Farncombe turn ā€™is attention to Miss Birch, pray, or to any young lady who doesnā€™t object to take your leavinā€™s!

Jimmie.

To Mrs. Upjohn. Hā€™sh, hā€™sh, hā€™sh!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Walking about. No, I wonā€™t ā€™ush!

Jimmie.

To Lily, quietly. Iā€™ll come back in the afternoon.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Lil seems to ā€™ave got some maggot or other in ā€™er brain about drawinā€™ Lord Farncombe into ā€™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 sayinā€™ yesterday, our tiptop, aristocratic English famā€™lies ought to be ā€™xtremely grateful that strong, ā€™ealthy perfeshunals oā€™ the class of Miss ā€™Arker anā€™ Miss Trevail anā€™ Miss Shafto are enterinā€™ their ranks. Anā€™ if Lil chooses to be pig-ā€™eaded enoughā€”ā€”! Jimmie makes a movement towards Mrs. Upjohn. ā€™Ave a bottle oā€™ 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. Hā€™m!

Lily.

To Jimmie. Oh, Jimmieā€”stayā€”ā€”!

The knocking

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