[_Looking at LILY._] Lil.

LILY.

Yes, mother?

MRS. UPJOHN.

'Ave another cup o' tea, won't you?

LILY.

No.

MRS. UPJOHN.

'Nother bit o' toast, then?

LILY.

No.

MRS. UPJOHN.

Smoke a cigarette.

LILY.

No.

MRS. UPJOHN.

You always _do_ 'ave a w'iff after your breakfast. Come!

LILY.

No.

MRS. UPJOHN.

[_Rising and walking away._] Oh, dear; oh, dear! Deuce take Carlton Smythe an' 'is supper party-- those are _my_ sentiments; _an'_ Lal Roper, busybody that 'e is! Things were goin' on with us as smooth an'

peaceful as could be, before this upset.

LILY.

[_Raising herself, angrily._] _You_ were in it, mother; you're as much to blame as anybody.

MRS. UPJOHN.

[_Halting._] 'Ow _in_ it?

LILY.

In Uncle Lal's artful plan to prevent Nicko from being invited. You've confessed you were.

MRS. UPJOHN.

Lal twisted me round 'is little finger. I was clay in the porter's 'and, as your dad was fond of sayin'.

LILY.

[_Changing her position._] If only Nicko had been there, I shouldn'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 wouldn't, _couldn't_ have happened. [_Hitting a cushion._] Oh!

[_Sitting up and embracing her knees._] Mother----!

MRS. UPJOHN.

[_Behind the settee._] Wot?

LILY.

[_Knitting her brows._] I-- I'm so surprised at myself.

MRS. UPJOHN.

Surprised?

LILY.

So-- so disappointed with myself.

MRS. UPJOHN.

Why, you 'aven't done anything that-- that's not quite respectable, Lil. On the cont'ry----

LILY.

No, I haven't done anything that's actually not nice, but-- fancy!----

MRS. UPJOHN.

[_Close to LILY._] Fancy----?

LILY.

[_Opening her eyes widely._] Fancy my letting myself go with young Farncombe as I did! _He-- he'd_ been admiring me from a distance for weeks and weeks, but I'd scarcely noticed him till last night!

[_Leaning her head against MRS. UPJOHN, softly._] I-- I always thought I was such a cold girl, mother, in-- in that way.

MRS. UPJOHN.