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_THE GAY LORD QUEX_

[Transcriber's Notes: The following changes were made to the e-book edition
of this book: potegee changed to protegee, and punctuation normalized]






_All applications respecting amateur performances of this play must he
made to Mr. Pinero's agents, Samuel French, Limited, 89 Strand, London,
W.C._




_THE GAY LORD QUEX_




_THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO_

Paper cover, 1s. 6d.; cloth, 2s. 6d. each

_THE TIMES_
_THE PROFLIGATE_
_THE CABINET MINISTER_
_THE HOBBY-HORSE_
_LADY BOUNTIFUL_
_THE MAGISTRATE_
_DANDY DICK_
_SWEET LAVENDER_
_THE SCHOOLMISTRESS_
_THE WEAKER SEX_
_THE AMAZONS_
_THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY_
_THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH_
_THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT_
_THE PRINCESS AND THE BUTTERFLY_
_TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"_


THE PINERO BIRTHDAY BOOK
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY MYRA HAMILTON
With a Portrait, cloth extra, price 2s. 6d.

_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_




_THE GAY LORD QUEX_



_A COMEDY_
_In Four Acts_


_By ARTHUR W. PINERO_


_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_

_MCM_




_Copyright, 1900
All rights reserved
Entered at Stationers' Hall
Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A._




_THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY_

THE MARQUESS OF QUEX
SIR CHICHESTER FRAYNE (Governor of Uumbos, West Coast of Africa)
CAPTAIN BASTLING
"VALMA," otherwise FRANK POLLITT (a Professional Palmist)
THE DUCHESS OF STROOD
JULIA, COUNTESS OF OWBRIDGE
MRS. JACK EDEN
MURIEL EDEN (her sister-in-law)
SOPHY FULLGARNEY (a Manicurist)
MISS MOON        }
MISS HUDDLE      } (her Assistants)
MISS CLARIDGE    }
MISS LIMBIRD     }
A YOUNG LADY AND OTHER PATRONS OF MISS FULLGARNEY
SERVANTS AT FAUNCEY COURT




_This Play was first acted at the Globe Theatre, London, on Saturday,
April 8, 1899_




_THE FIRST ACT_

ESTABLISHMENT OF SOPHY FULLGARNEY, MANICURIST
AND DISPENSER OF ARTICLES FOR THE TOILET,
185 NEW BOND STREET

(AFTERNOON)


_THE SECOND ACT__

AT LADY OWBRIDGE'S. THE "ITALIAN GARDEN,"
FAUNCEY COURT, RICHMOND

(EVENING)


_THE THIRD ACT_

A BOUDOIR AND BEDROOM AT FAUNCEY COURT

(NIGHT)


_THE FOURTH ACT_

IN BOND STREET AGAIN

(THE FOLLOWING DAY)


_The action of the Play is comprised within the space of twenty-four
hours_




THE GAY LORD QUEX

THE FIRST ACT


_The scene represents a manicure establishment in New Bond Street. It is
a front room upon the first floor, with three french-windows affording a
view of certain buildings on the east side of the street. On the left,
furthest from the spectator, is a wide, arched opening, apparently
leading to another apartment, in which is the door giving entrance to
the rooms from the staircase. Nearer, there is another french-window,
opening on to an expanse of "leads" and showing the exterior of the wall
of the further room above-mentioned. From the right, above the middle
window, runs an ornamental partition, about nine feet in height, with
panels of opaque glass. This partition extends more than half-way across
the room, then runs forward for some distance, turns off at a sharp
angle, and terminates between the arched opening and the window on the
left. That part of the partition running from right to left is closed on
its left side and forms, therefore, a separate room or compartment.
Facing the audience, on the right, is a door admitting to this
compartment; and, on the left, also in the, partition opposite the
windows on the right, is an opening with a looped-back portiere. The
space between this opening and the further room forms a narrow anteroom,
containing articles of furniture visible through the opening. Mirrors
are affixed to the right wall, between the lower and the middle window
and between the middle window and the partition, while on the left,
between the window and the partition, is another mirror. A number of
business cards are stuck in the frames of the mirrors. On the right,
before each of the two lower windows, turned from the spectator, is a
capacious arm-chair, made in cane open-work. Attached to the arms of
these chairs are little screens--also made of cane--shielding in a
measure the occupants of the chairs from observation. Upon both the
right and left arms of these chairs are circular frames, in cane, shaped
to receive bowls of water Above each of the screen-chairs stands a
smaller chair, set to face the larger one; and beside the small chair,
on its right hand, is a low table, upon which are arranged the
instruments and toilet necessaries employed in the process of manicure
On the right, between the window and the partition is a three-cornered
what-not, on which are set out packets of soap and of powder and other
articles of the toilet. At the further end of the room, in the centre,
stands a desk laden with account-books; and above the desk, its back
against the partition, is a chair. On the right is a hat-and-umbrella
stand. Nearer, in the centre, is a large circular table on which are
displayed bottles of scent and liquid soap, cases of instruments for
manicure, and some wooden bowls of bath-soap with lather brushes. On the
right and left are ordinary chairs. Placed against the partition on the
left, and facing the audience, is a cabinet, making a display similar to
that upon the what-not. Nearer, on the left, there is another
screen-chair set to face the audience; below it is a smaller seat and,
by the side of the smaller seat, another little table with manicure
tools, &c. Some framed photographs of ladies hang against the wood-work
of the partition and in the wall-spaces; and in the lower and middle
windows, on the right, bird-cages are suspended._

_The light is that of a bright day in June._

[_On the right_ MISS CLARIDGE _and_ MISS HUDDLE _are in the final stages
of manicuring two smart-looking men. The men occupy the screen-chairs;
the manicurists--comely girls in black frocks--sit, facing the men, upon
the smaller seats. On the left_ MISS MOON _is rougeing and varnishing
the nails of a fashionably-dressed young lady, whose maid is seated at
the table in the centre._ MISS LIMBIRD _is at the desk, deep in
accounts._

MISS MOON:

[_To the young lady._] You won't have them _too_ red, will you?

YOUNG LADY.

Not too red--nicely flushed.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.

[_Examining his nails critically as he rises._] I say though, that's a
vast improvement!

MISS CLARIDGE.

Getting more shapely, aren't they?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.

Thanks awfully.

[_He pays_ MISS LIMBIRD, _stands talking to her for a while, and
ultimately strolls away through the opening in the partition. After
putting her table in order_, MISS CLARIDGE _goes out the same way,
carrying her bowl of water and towel._

MISS MOON.

[_To the young lady._] Have you had your hand read yet, madam, by any of
these palmists?

YOUNG LADY.

Heavens, yes! I've been twice to that woman Bernstein, and I don't know
how often to Chiron.

MISS MOON.

Ah, you ought to try Valma.

YOUNG LADY.

Valma?

MISS MOON.

He's the latest. Ladies are flocking to him.

YOUNG LADY.

Really?

MISS MOON.

Yes. Such taking manners.

YOUNG LADY.

Where does he--?

MISS MOON.

186--next door. [_Indicating the window on the left._] You can see his
waiting-room from that window.

YOUNG LADY.

Is he a guinea or half a guinea?

MISS MOON.

Oh, he's a guinea.

YOUNG LADY.

That's a bore.

MISS MOON.

Ah, but consider, madam--his rooms are draped from ceiling to floor in
blue velvet. Blue velvet! fancy! Not that I've had the privilege of
viewing them myself; Miss F. is our authority.

YOUNG LADY.

Miss F.?

MISS MOON.

I beg your pardon--Miss Fullgarney. Valma is quite neighbourly with Miss
Fullgarney.

[_A door-gong sounds--as it does every time any one enters or quits the
establishment--signifying that the first gentleman has departed._

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

[_Rising._] Much obliged. [_Putting a tip into_ MISS HUDDLE'S _hand_.]
For yourself.

MISS HUDDLE.

Much obliged to _you_.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

You're a fresh face here?

MISS HUDDLE.

Yes; I used to be with Mossu and Madame Roget in Mortimer Street.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

I'll ask for you next time. What name?

MISS HUDDLE.

Miss Huddle.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

Huddle?

MISS HUDDLE.

Well, p'r'aps you'd better ask for Miss Hud-delle; I fancy Miss
Fullgarney is going to alter me to that.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.

[_With a nod._] Goo'-bye.

MISS HUDDLE.

Good-day, sir.

[_He pays_ MISS LIMBIRD _and goes out. The maid rises and hands the
young lady her gloves._

MISS MOON.

[_Taking a card from the mirror._] Would you like a card of Valma's,
madam, just to remind you?

YOUNG LADY.

[_Accepting the card and reading it._] "Valma. Palmist. Professor of the
Sciences of Chiromancy and Chirognomy. 186 New Bond Street." [_Giving
the card to her maid._] Keep that.

[_The door-gong sounds._

MISS MOON.

[_Opening a window._] Look, madam. That's one of his rooms; the window
there--the open one--

YOUNG LADY.

Yes, I see. Thanks. Good-morning.

MISS MOON.

Good morning.

[_The young lady pays_ MISS LIMBIRD _and goes, followed by her maid_.

MISS HUDDLE.

[_To_ MISS MOON] What time is it, dear?

MISS MOON.

[_Putting her table in order._] Half-past one. Lunch-time.

MISS HUDDLE.

Thought so; I've sech a vacancy.

[MISS HUDDLE _goes out, carrying her bowl and towel, as_ FRANK
POLLITT--"VALMA"--_appears at the window on the left--a well, if rather
showily, dressed young fellow, wearing a frock coat, white waistcoat,
and patent-leather boots. He is handsome in a commonplace way, and,
though stilted and self-conscious, earnest in speech and bearing._

POLLITT.

[_Looking in._] Excuse me--

MISS MOON.

[_Startled._] Oh! oh, Mr. Valma!

POLLITT.

[_Entering._] Is Miss Fullgarney in the way?

MISS MOON.

[_Gazing at him in modest admiration._] She's with a lady in the private
room, Mr. Valma.

[_The door in the partition opens._

SOPHY.

[_From the private room._] Oh, no, madam, I promise I won't forget.
Certainly not, I take too much interest in your daughter's nails for
that.

MISS MOON.

This is her.

[_A middle-aged lady enters from the private room, followed by_ SOPHY
FULLGARNEY. _The customer pays at the desk while_ SOPHY _rattles on._
SOPHY _is a pretty, elegant, innocently vulgar, fascinating young woman
of six-and-twenty._

SOPHY.

[_With the air of the proprietress of a prosperous establishment._] Oh,
yes, it did slip my memory to come on Thursday, didn't it? The truth is
I had a most racking head, a thing I never have--well, I oughtn't to say
never have, ought I? [_To_ MISS LIMBIRD.] Now, Miss Limbird, see that
two pots of Creme de Mimosa are posted to Mrs. Arment, Carlos Place; and
book me, please--_me_--you thoroughly understand?--to attend upon Miss
Arment to-morrow evening at seven. [_Accompanying the customer, who now
withdraws._] To-morrow evening at seven--without fail. [_Raising her
voice._] The door, Miss Claridge. Good morning, madam. Good afternoon.

[_The door-gong sounds._

SOPHY.

Come, girls, you can get to your lunches.

[MISS LIMBIRD _leaves her desk and goes out._

MISS MOON.

Here's Mr. Valma, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_With a little gasp._] Mr. Valma. [_Approaching him._] How do you do?

POLLITT.

[_Advancing._] Pardon me for the liberty I have taken in again crossing
the leads.

SOPHY.

[_Looking away from him._] No liberty at all.

POLLITT.

I desire a few words with you, Miss Fullgarney, and it struck me that at
this time of the day--

SOPHY.

Yes, there's nothing doing here just at lunch-time.

POLLITT.

Perhaps you would graciously allow me to converse with you while you--

SOPHY.

[_Regaining her self-possession._] Oh, I had my lunch an hour ago; I
came over so ravenous. [_Going to_ MISS MOON, _who is still lost in
admiration of_ POLLITT--_in a whisper._] Be off, child. Don't stand
staring at Mr. Valma.

MISS MOON.

[_In_ SOPHY'S _ear._] I think I've got him another!

SOPHY.

Shut up!

[MISS MOON _withdraws, with her bowl and towel._

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT.] Did you catch what she said? Oh, it doesn't matter if
you did; you know we are all working for you, like <DW65>s.

POLLITT.

[_Tenderly._] Ah!

SOPHY.

Not a customer leaves my place without having heard your name mentioned.
My girls are regular bricks.

POLLITT.

[_Approaching her._] And what are you?

SOPHY.

[_Looking away again._] Oh, I do no more than any of the others.

POLLITT.

Do you expect me to believe that? you, their queen! No, it is _you_ who
have helped me to steer my bark into the flowing waters of popularity.

SOPHY.

[_Nervously._] Extremely pleased, I--I'm sure. [_He is close beside her;
a cork is drawn loudly. They part, startled and disturbed. She goes to
the opening in the partition, raising her voice slightly._] Girls,
can't you draw your corks a shade quieter? Nice if somebody was coming
upstairs!

MISS LIMBIRD.

[_In the distance._] Very sorry, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT, _as she toys with the articles upon the circular table._]
Everything is so up this weather. It's their lime-juice champagne.

POLLITT.

[_By her side again--suddenly._] I love you!

SOPHY.

Oh, Mr. Valma!

POLLITT.

I love you! Ever since I had the honour of being presented to you by Mr.
Salmon, the picture-dealer next door, I have thought of you, dreamt of
you, constantly. [_She brushes past him; he follows her._] Miss
Fullgarney, you will accord me permission to pay you my addresses?

SOPHY.

[_In a flutter._] I--I am highly flattered and complimented, Mr. Valma,
by your proposal--

POLLITT.

[_Taking her hand._] Flattered--no!

SOPHY.

[_Withdrawing her hand._] Oh, but please wait!

POLLITT.

Wait!

SOPHY.

I mean, I certainly couldn't dream of accepting the attentions of any
man until he fully understood--

POLLITT.

Understood what?

SOPHY.

[_Summoning all her dignity._] Oh, I'll be perfectly straight with
you--until he fully understood that, whatever my station in life may be
now, I have risen from rather--well, I may say _very_ small beginnings.

POLLITT.

What matters that?

SOPHY.

Oh, but I beg your pardon--it does. [_Relaxing._] I am sure I can depend
on you not to give me away all over the place?

POLLITT.

Miss Fullgarney--!

SOPHY.

[_After a cautious glance round._] You know, Mr. Valma, I was always a
self-willed, independent sort of a girl--a handful, they used to call
me; and when father died I determined to have done with my step-mother,
and to come to London at any price. I was seventeen then.

POLLITT.

Yes?

SOPHY.

Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, really; still, I did begin life in
town--[_with an uneasy little laugh and a toss of the head_]--you'd
hardly believe it!--as a nursery-maid.

POLLITT.

H'm! I am aware that is not considered--

SOPHY.

I should think not! Oh, of course, in time I rose to be Useful Maid, and
then Maid. I've been lady's-maid in some excellent houses. And when I
got sick of maiding I went to Dundas's opposite, and served three years
at the hairdressing; that's an extremely refined position, I needn't
say. And then some kind friends routed me out, [_surveying the room
proudly_] and put me into this.

POLLITT.

Then why bestow a second thought upon your beginnings?

SOPHY.

No, I suppose I oughtn't to. Nobody can breathe a word against my
respectability. All the same, I am quite aware that it mightn't be over
pleasant for a gentleman to remember that his wife was once--[_sitting
in the screen-chair_] well, a servant.

POLLITT.

[_By her chair._] It would not weigh on my mind if you had been
kitchen-maid [_pointing out of the window_] at Fletcher's Hotel.
[_Looking about him._] It's this business I don't care for.

SOPHY.

This business!

POLLITT.

For _you_. If you did no more than glide about your rooms,
superintending your young ladies! [_Sitting, facing her._] But I hate
the idea of your sitting here, or there, holding some man's hand in
yours!

SOPHY.

[_Suddenly ablaze._] Do you! [_Pointing out of the window._] Yet you sit
there, day after day, and hold women's hands in yours!

POLLITT.

[_Eagerly._] You are jealous of me?

SOPHY.

[_Panting._] A little.

POLLITT.

[_Going down upon one knee._] Ah, you do love me!

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] Fondly.

POLLITT.

And you will be my wife?

SOPHY.

Yes.

POLLITT.

[_Embracing her._] My dearest!

SOPHY.

Not yet! suppose the girls saw you!

POLLITT.

Let all the world see us!

SOPHY.

[_Submissively, laying her cheek upon his brow._] Oh, but I wish--and
yet I don't wish--

POLLITT.

What?

SOPHY.

That you were not so much my superior in every way.

POLLITT.

[_In an altered voice._] Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_In a murmur, her eyes closed._] Eh-h-h?

POLLITT.

I have had my early struggles too.

SOPHY.

You, love?

POLLITT.

Yes. If you should ever hear--

SOPHY.

Hear--?

POLLITT.

That until recently I was a solicitor's clerk--

SOPHY.

[_Slightly surprised._] A solicitor's clerk?

POLLITT.

You would not turn against me?

SOPHY.

Ah, as if--!

POLLITT.

You know my real name is Pollitt--Frank Toleman Pollitt?

SOPHY.

I've heard it isn't really Valma. [_With a little shiver._] Never mind
that.

POLLITT.

But I shall be Frank to you henceforth, shan't I?

SOPHY.

Oh, no, no! always Valma to me--[_dreamily_] my Valma. [_Their lips meet
in a prolonged kiss. Then the door-gong sounds._] Get up! [_They rise in
a hurry. She holds his hand tightly._] Wait and see who it is. Oh, don't
go for a minute! stay a minute!

[_They separate; he stands looking out upon the leads._ MISS CLARIDGE
_enters, preceding the_ MARQUESS OF QUEX _and_ SIR CHICHESTER FRAYNE.
LORD QUEX _is forty-eight, keen-faced and bright-eyed, faultless in
dress, in manner debonair and charming._ FRAYNE _is a genial wreck of
about five-and-forty--the lean and shrivelled remnant of a once
good-looking man. His face is yellow and puckered, his hair prematurely
silvered, his moustache palpably touched-up._

QUEX.

[_Perceiving_ SOPHY _and approaching her._] How are you, Miss
Fullgarney?

SOPHY.

[_Respectfully, but icily._] Oh, how do you do, my lord?

[MISS CLARIDGE _withdraws._ FRAYNE _comes forward, eyeing_ SOPHY _with
interest._

QUEX.

My aunt--Lady Owbridge--has asked me to meet her here at two o'clock.
Her ladyship is lunching at a tea-shop close by--bunning is a more
fitting expression--with Mrs. Eden and Miss Eden.

SOPHY.

[_Gladly._] Miss Muriel!

QUEX.

Yes, I believe Miss Muriel will place her pretty finger-tips in your
charge, [_partly to_ FRAYNE] while I escort Lady Owbridge and Mrs. Jack
to view this new biblical picture--[_with a gesture_] a few doors up.
What is the subject?--Moses in the Bulrushes. [_To_ FRAYNE.] Come with
us, Chick.

SOPHY.

It's not quite two, my lord; if you like, you've just time to run in
next door and have your palm read.

QUEX.

My palm--?

SOPHY.

By this extraordinary palmist everybody is talking about--Valma.

QUEX.

[_Pleasantly._] One of these fortune-telling fellows, eh? [_Shaking his
head._] I prefer the gipsy on Epsom race-course.

SOPHY.

[_Under her breath._] Oh, indeed! [_Curtly._] Please take a seat.

[_She flounces up to the desk and busies herself there vindictively._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX.] Who's that gal? what's her name?

QUEX.

Fullgarney; a protegee of the Edens. Her father was bailiff to old Mr.
Eden, at their place in Norfolk.

FRAYNE.

Rather alluring--eh, what?

QUEX.

[_Wincing._] Don't, Chick!

FRAYNE.

My dear Harry, it is perfectly proper, now that you are affianced to
Miss Eden, and have reformed all that sort of thing--it is perfectly
proper that you should no longer observe pretty women too narrowly.

QUEX.

Obviously.

FRAYNE.

But do bear in mind that your old friend is not so pledged. Recollect
that _I_ have been stuck for the last eight years, with intervals of
leave, on the West Coast of Africa, nursing malaria--

QUEX

[_Severely._] Only malaria?

FRAYNE.

[_Mournfully._] There is nothing else to nurse, dear Harry, on the West
Coast of Africa. [_Glancing at_ SOPHY.] Yes, by gad, that gal is
alluring!

QUEX.

[_Walking away._] Tssh! you're a bad companion, Chick!

[_He goes to the window and looks into the street._ FRAYNE _joins him._
SOPHY, _seizing her opportunity comes down to_ POLLITT.

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT.] Valma dear, you see that man?

POLLITT.

Which of the two?

SOPHY.

The dark one. That's Lord Quex--the wickedest man in London.

POLLITT.

He looks it. [_Jealously._] Have you ever cut his nails?

SOPHY.

No, love, no. Oh, I've heard such tales about him!

POLLITT.

What tales?

SOPHY.

I'll tell you, [_demurely_] when we're married. And the worst of it is,
he is engaged to Miss Eden.

POLLITT.

Who is she?

SOPHY.

Miss Muriel Eden, my foster-sister; the dearest friend I have in the
world--except you, sweetheart. It was Muriel and her brother Jack who
put me into this business. And now my darling is to be sacrificed to
that gay old thing--!

[_The door-gong sounds;_ QUEX _turns expectantly._

POLLITT.

If Miss Eden is your foster-sister--

SOPHY.

Yes, of course, she's six-and-twenty. But the poor girl has been worried
into it by her sister-in-law, Mrs. Jack, whose one idea is Title and
Position. Title and Position with that old rake by her side!

MISS LIMBIRD _enters, preceding_ CAPTAIN BASTLING--_a smart,
soldierly-looking man of about eight-and-twenty._ MISS LIMBIRD _returns
to her seat at the desk._

SOPHY.

[_Seeing_ BASTLING.] My gracious!

POLLITT.

What's the matter?

QUEX.

[_Recognising_ BASTLING _and greeting him._] Hallo, Napier! how are you?

BASTLING.

[_Shaking hands with_ QUEX.] Hallo, Quex!

QUEX.

What are you doing here?

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT.] Phew! I hope to goodness Lord Quex won't tumble to
anything.

POLLITT.

Tumble--to what?

[QUEX _introduces_ BASTLING _to_ FRAYNE.

SOPHY.

You don't understand; it's Captain Bastling--the man Muriel is really
fond of.

POLLITT.

What, while she's engaged--?

SOPHY.

[_With clenched hands._] Yes, and she shall marry him too, my darling
shall, if I can help to bring it about.

POLLITT.

You?

SOPHY.

Bless 'em, I don't know how they'd contrive without me!

POLLITT.

Contrive--?

SOPHY.

[_Fondly._] You old stupid! whenever Muriel is coming to be manicured
she sends Captain Bastling a warning overnight; [_squeezing_ POLLITT'S
_arm, roguishly_] this kind of thing--"My heart is heavy and my nails
are long. To-morrow--three-thirty." Ha, ha, ha!

POLLITT.

Dearest, let me advise you--

SOPHY.

[_Her hand upon his lips._] Ah, don't lecture! [BASTLING _saunters
forward to attract_ SOPHY'S _attention._] Oh--! [_To_ POLLITT,
_hurriedly._] Go now. Pop in again by-and-by. [_Caressingly._] Um-m-m!
my love!

[POLLITT _goes out by the window._

SOPHY.

[_Joining_ BASTLING--_formally._] Good day, Captain Bastling.

BASTLING.

Good afternoon, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Dropping her voice._] She'll be here in a minute.

BASTLING.

[_In low tones_--_making a show of examining the articles on the
circular table._] Yes, I had a note from her this morning. [_Glancing
at_ QUEX.] Confounded nuisance--!

SOPHY.

[_Pretending to display the articles._] It's all right; he's got to take
Lady Owbridge and Mrs. Jack Eden to look at Moses in the Bulrushes--a
picture--

BASTLING.

Sophy--I've bad news.

SOPHY.

No! what?

BASTLING.

My regiment is ordered to Hong-Kong.

SOPHY.

Great heavens! when are you off?

BASTLING.

In a fortnight.

SOPHY.

Oh, my poor darling!

BASTLING.

I must see her again to-morrow. I've something serious to propose to
her.

SOPHY.

[_Half in eagerness, half in fright._] Have you?

BASTLING.

But to-morrow it must be alone, Sophy; I can't say what I have to say in
a few hasty whispers, with all your girls flitting about--and perhaps a
customer or two here. Alone!

SOPHY.

Without me?

BASTLING.

Surely you can trust us. To-morrow at twelve. You'll manage it?

SOPHY.

How can I--alone?

BASTLING.

You're our only friend. Think!

SOPHY.

[_Glancing suddenly towards the left._] Valma's rooms!

[FRAYNE _has wandered to the back of the circular table, and, through
his eyeglass, is again observing_ SOPHY. QUEX _now joins him._

BASTLING.

[_Perceiving them--to_ SOPHY.] Look out!

SOPHY.

[_Taking a bottle from his hand--raising her voice._] You'll receive the
perfume in the course of the afternoon. [_Replacing the bottle upon the
table._] Shall I do your nails?

BASTLING.

Thanks.

[_They move away. He takes his place in the screen-chair; she sits
facing him. During the process of manicuring they talk together
earnestly._

FRAYNE.

[_Eyeing_ SOPHY.] Slim, but shapely. Slim, but shapely.

MISS MOON _enters, with a bowl of water. Having adjusted the bowl upon
the arm of the screen-chair, she retires._

FRAYNE.

There's another of 'em. Plain. [_Watching_ MISS MOON _as she goes out._]
I don't know--rather alluring. [_Finding_ QUEX _by his side._] Beg your
pardon.

QUEX.

Didn't hear you.

FRAYNE.

Glad of it. At the same time, old friend, you will forgive me for
remarking that a man's virtuous resolutions must be--ha, ha!--somewhat
feeble, hey?--when he flinches at the mere admiration of beauty on the
part of a pal, connoisseur through that pal undoubtedly is.

QUEX.

Oh, my dear Chick, my resolutions are firm enough.

FRAYNE.

[_Dubiously._] H'm!

QUEX.

And my prudery is consistent with the most laudable intentions, I assure
you. But the fact is, dear chap, I go in fear and trembling--

FRAYNE.

Ah!

QUEX.

No, no, not for my strength of mind--fear lest any trivial act of mine,
however guileless; the most innocent glance in the direction of a
decent-looking woman; should be misinterpreted by the good ladies in
whose hands I have placed myself--especially aunt Julia. You remember
Lady Owbridge?

FRAYNE.

Why did you intrust yourself--?

QUEX.

My one chance! [_Taking_ FRAYNE _to the table, against which they both
lean shoulder to shoulder--his voice falling into a strain of
tenderness._] Chick, when I fell in love with Miss Eden--

FRAYNE.

[_In sentimental retrospection._] Fell in love! what memories are
awakened by the dear old phrase!

QUEX.

[_Dryly._] Yes. Will you talk about your love affairs, Chick, or shall
I--?

FRAYNE.

Certainly--you. Go on, Harry.

QUEX.

When I proposed marriage to Miss Eden--it was at the hunt-ball at
Stanridge--

FRAYNE.

[_His eyes sparkling._] Did you select a retired corner--with
flowers--by any chance?

QUEX.

There _were_ flowers.

FRAYNE.

I know--_I_ know! Nearly twenty years ago, and the faint scent of the
_Gardenia Florida_ remains in my nostrils!

QUEX.

Quite so. Would _you_ like to--?

FRAYNE.

[_Sitting._] No, no--you. Excuse me. You go on.

QUEX.

[_Sitting on the edge of the table, looking down upon_ FRAYNE.] When I
proposed to Miss Eden I was certain--even while I was stammering it
out--I was certain that my infernal evil character--

FRAYNE.

Ah, yes. I've always been a dooced deal more artful than you, Harry,
over my little _amours_. [_Chuckling._] Ha, ha! devilish cunning!

QUEX.

And I was right. Her first words were, "Think of your life; how can you
ask this of me?"--her first words and her last, that evening. I was
desperate, Chick, for I--Well, I'm hit, you know.

FRAYNE.

What did you do?

QUEX.

Came to town by the first train in the morning--drove straight off to
Richmond, to my pious aunt. Found her in bed with asthma; _I_ got her
up. And I almost went down on my knees to her, Chick.

FRAYNE.

Not really?

QUEX.

I did--old man as I am! no, I'm not old.

FRAYNE.

Forty-eight. Ha, ha! I'm only forty-five.

QUEX.

But you've had malaria--

FRAYNE.

Dry up, Harry!

QUEX.

So we're quits. Well, down on my marrow-bones I went, metaphorically,
and there and then I made my vows to old aunt Julia, and craved her
help; and she dropped tears on me, Chick, like a mother. And the result
was that within a month I became engaged to Miss Eden.

FRAYNE.

The young lady soon waived her--

QUEX.

[_Getting off the table._] I beg your pardon--the young lady did nothing
of the kind. But with aunt Julia's aid I showed 'em all that it was a
genuine case of done with the old life--a real, genuine instance.
[_Balancing upon the back of the chair._] I've sold my house in Norfolk
Street.

FRAYNE.

You'll want one.

QUEX.

[_Gravely._] Not that one--for Muriel. [_Brightly._] And I'm living
sedately at Richmond, under aunt Julia's wing. Muriel is staying at
Fauncey Court too, just now; she's up from Norfolk for the Season,
chaperoned by Mrs. Jack. [_Sitting, nursing his knee, with a sigh of
content_.] Ah! after all, it's very pleasant to be a good boy.

FRAYNE.

When is it to take place?

QUEX.

At the end of the year; assuming, of course--

FRAYNE.

That you continue to behave prettily? [QUEX _assents, with a wave of the
hand._] The slightest lapse on your part--?

QUEX.

Impossible.

FRAYNE.

But it would--?

QUEX.

[_A little impatiently._] Naturally.

FRAYNE.

Well, six months pass quickly--everywhere but on the West Coast of
Africa.

QUEX.

And then--you shall be my best man, Chick, if you're still home.

FRAYNE.

[_Rising._] Hah! I never thought--

QUEX.

[_Rising._] No; I who always laughed at marriage as a dull depravity
permitted to the respectable classes! I who always maintained that man's
whole duty to woman--meaning his mistresses--that a man's duty to a
woman is liberally discharged when he has made a settlement on her, or
stuck her into his will! [_Blowing the ideas from him._] Phugh!

[_He goes to the little table, and examines the objects upon it._

FRAYNE.

[_Following him._] Talking of--ah--mistresses I suppose you've--?

QUEX.

Oh, yes, they're all--

FRAYNE.

Made happy and comfortable?

QUEX.

I've done my utmost.

FRAYNE.

Mrs.--?

QUEX.

[_Rather irritably._] I say, all of them.

FRAYNE.

No trouble with Lady--?

QUEX.

No, no, no, no.

FRAYNE.

What about the little Duchess? [QUEX _pauses in his examination of a
nail-clipper._] Eh?

QUEX.

[_Turning to him, slightly embarrassed._] Odd that you should mention
her.

FRAYNE.

Why?

QUEX.

She's staying at Fauncey Court also.

FRAYNE.

The Duchess!

QUEX.

She proposed herself for a visit. I dared not raise any objection, for
her reputation's sake; the ladies would have suspected at once. You're
one of the few, Chick, who ever got an inkling of that business.

FRAYNE.

Very awkward!

QUEX.

No. She's behaving admirably. [_Thoughtfully--with a wry face._] Of
course she was always a little romantic and sentimental.

FRAYNE.

By gad though, what an alluring woman!

QUEX.

[_Shortly._] Perhaps.

FRAYNE.

Ho, come! you don't mean to tell me--?

QUEX.

[_With dignity._] Yes, I do--upon my honour, I've forgotten. [_The
door-gong sounds._] This must be the ladies.

MURIEL EDEN _enters, followed by_ MISS CLARIDGE. MURIEL _is a tall,
fresh-looking, girlish young woman, prettily dressed._ SOPHY _rises and
meets her._

MURIEL.

[_Behind the circular table--to_ SOPHY, _breathlessly, as if from the
exertion of running upstairs._] Well, Sophy! [_Looking round._] Is Lord
Quex--? [SOPHY _glances towards_ QUEX, _who advances._] Oh, yes. [_To_
QUEX.] Lady Owbridge and Mrs. Jack won't fag upstairs just now. They're
waiting for you in the carriage, they asked me to say.

QUEX.

[_In tender solicitation._] Moses in the Bulrushes? You still elect to
have your nails cut?

MURIEL.

Thanks, I--[_with an effort_] I've already seen the picture.

QUEX.

And its merits are not sufficient--?

MURIEL.

[_Guiltily._] I thought the bulrushes rather well done.

QUEX.

May I present my old friend, Sir Chichester Frayne?

MURIEL.

[_To_ FRAYNE.] How do you do?

QUEX.

[_To_ FRAYNE.] Will you come, Chick? [_To_ MURIEL.] We shall be back
very soon.

[MURIEL _nods to_ QUEX _and_ FRAYNE _and turns away to the window,
removing her gloves._ SOPHY _joins her._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX.] As I suspected--the typical, creamy English girl. We all
do it! we all come to that, sooner or later.

QUEX.

[_Looking from_, MURIEL _to_ FRAYNE _proudly._] Well--

FRAYNE.

[_In answer, kissing his finger-tips to the air._] Alluring!

QUEX.

Ha! [_Hastily._] We're keeping the ladies waiting.

[_He goes out._ FRAYNE _is following_ QUEX, _when he encounters_ MISS
CLARIDGE. _He pauses, gazing at her admiringly. The door-gong sounds._

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_Surprised._] Do you wish anything, sir?

FRAYNE.

[_With a little sigh of longing._] Ah--h!

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_Coldly._] Shall I cut your nails?

FRAYNE.

[_Wofully._] That's it, dear young lady--you can't!

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_With hauteur._] Reely! Why not, sir?

FRAYNE.

I regret to say I bite 'em.

[_He goes out_. MISS CLARIDGE _titters loudly to_ MISS LIMBIRD.

SOPHY.

[_To_ MISS CLARIDGE, _reprovingly._] Miss Claridge! I don't require you
at present.

[MISS CLARIDGE _withdraws._

SOPHY.

[_Going to_ MISS LIMBIRD.] Miss Limbird, will _you_ oblige me? hot
water, please.

[MISS LIMBIRD _goes out. At once_ SOPHY _gives a signal to_ BASTLING
_and_ MURIEL, _and keeps guard._ BASTLING _and_ MURIEL _talk in low,
hurried tones._

BASTLING.

[_On the right of the circular table._] How are you?

MURIEL.

[_On the other side, giving him her hand across the table._] I don't
know. [_Withdrawing her hand._] I hate myself!

BASTLING.

Hate yourself?

MURIEL.

For this sort of thing. [_Glancing round apprehensively._] Oh!

BASTLING.

Don't be frightened. Sophy's there.

MURIEL.

I'm nervous--shaky. When I wrote to you last night I thought I should be
able to sneak up to town this morning only with a maid. And you've met
Quex too!

BASTLING.

None of them suspect--?

MURIEL.

No. Oh, but go now!

BASTLING.

Already! May I not sit and watch you?

MURIEL.

Not to-day.

BASTLING.

You must hear my news, then, from Sophy; she'll tell you--

MURIEL.

News?

SOPHY.

[_Turning to them sharply._] Hsst!

MURIEL.

Good-bye!

BASTLING.

[_Grasping her arm._] Haven't you one loving little speech for me?

SOPHY.

[_Behind the table._] Gar--r--rh!

[_He releases_ MURIEL _and picks up a large wooden bowl of bath-soap,
just as_ MISS LIMBIRD _re-enters with the hot water._ MURIEL _moves
away, hastily._

SOPHY.

[_To_ BASTLING, _taking the soap from him--raising her voice._] Thank
you--much obliged. [_Transferring the soap to_ MISS LIMBIRD _and
relieving her of the bowl of water._] For Captain Bastling, with a
bottle of Fleur de Lilas.

[MISS LIMBIRD _returns to her desk;_ SOPHY _deposits the bowl of water
upon the arm of the screen-chair;_ BASTLING _fetches his hat, and gives
some directions to_ MISS LIMBIRD.

MURIEL.

[_To_ SOPHY, _in a whisper._] Sophy, these extravagances on his part! I
am the cause of them! he is not in the least well off!

SOPHY.

Don't worry; it's all booked. Ha, ha! bless him, he'll never get his
account from me! [BASTLING, _with a parting glance in the direction of_
MURIEL _and_ SOPHY, _goes out._] He's gone.

[MISS LIMBIRD _also goes out, carrying the bowl of bath-soap._

MURIEL.

[_With a sigh of relief._] Oh!

SOPHY.

[_Coming to her._] We're by ourselves for a minute. Give me a good hug.
[_Embracing her._] My dear! my darling! ha, ha, ha! you shall be the
first to hear of it--I'm engaged.

MURIEL.

Sophy! to whom?

SOPHY.

To Mr. Valma, the great palmist.

MURIEL.

What, the young man you've talked to me about--next door? [_Kissing
her._] I hope you are doing well for yourself, dear.

SOPHY.

He's simply perfect! he's--! oh, how can I be such a brute, talking of
my own happiness--! [_In an altered tone._] Darling, Captain Bastling's
regiment is going to be sent off to Hong-Kong.

MURIEL.

[_After a pause--commanding herself._] When?

SOPHY.

In about a fortnight.

MURIEL.

[_Frigidly._] Is this what you had to tell me, from him?

SOPHY.

Yes, and that he must see you to-morrow, alone. I'll arrange it. Can you
manage to be here at twelve?

MURIEL.

I daresay, somehow.

SOPHY.

[_Looking at her in surprise._] I thought you'd be more upset.

MURIEL.

[_Taking_ SOPHY'S _hand._] The truth is, Sophy--I'm glad.

SOPHY.

Glad!

MURIEL.

Awfully glad the chance has come of putting an end to all this. Oh, I've
been treating him shockingly!

SOPHY.

Him?

MURIEL.

Lord Quex!

SOPHY.

[_Impatiently._] Oh! pooh!

MURIEL.

[_Leaving_ SOPHY.] Yes, after to-morrow he sha'n't find me looking a
guilty fool whenever he speaks to me--by Jove, he sha'n't! I believe he
guessed I haven't seen Moses in the Bulrushes!

SOPHY.

But, dear, how do you know what Captain Bastling means to say to you
to-morrow?

MURIEL.

[_Pausing in her walk._] To say?--good-bye.

SOPHY.

Suppose he asks you to put him out of his misery--marry him directly, on
the quiet?

MURIEL.

[_A little unsteadily._] Then I shall tell him finally--my word is given
to Lord Quex.

SOPHY.

[_Coming to her again._] Given!--wrung out of you. And just for that
you'll lose the chance of being happy--all your life--with the man you--

[_She turns away, and sits, on the right of the circular table, blowing
her nose._

MURIEL.

[_At_ SOPHY'S _side, desperately._] But I tell you, Sophy, I love Lord
Quex.

SOPHY.

You may _tell_ me.

MURIEL.

I do--I mean, I'm getting to. [_Defiantly._] At any rate, I am proud of
him.

SOPHY.

Proud!

MURIEL.

Certainly--proud that he has mended his ways for my sake.

SOPHY.

[_Between tears and anger._] Mended his ways! with those eyes of his!

MURIEL.

[_Looking down upon_ SOPHY, _wonderingly._] His eyes? why, they are
considered his best feature.

SOPHY.

_I_ never saw wickeder eyes. All my girls say the same.

MURIEL.

[_With rising indignation._] I am sure you have never detected Lord Quex
looking at anybody in a way he should not.

SOPHY.

Oh, I admit he has always behaved in a gentlemanly manner towards me and
my girls.

MURIEL.

[_Haughtily._ Towards you and your--! Sophy, pray remember Lord Quex's
rank.

SOPHY.

[_In hot scorn._] His rank! ha! do you think his lordship has ever let
_that_ interfere--?

[_She checks herself, finding_ MURIEL _staring at her._

MURIEL.

[_In horror._] Sophy!

SOPHY.

[_Discomposed--rising._] Er--if I'm to do anything to your nails--

[_As_ SOPHY _is moving towards the manicure-table,_ MURIEL _intercepts
her._

MURIEL.

You are surely not suggesting that Lord Quex has ever descended--?

SOPHY.

[_Hastily._] No, no, no. [_Brushing past_ MURIEL _and seating herself
before the screen-chair_.] Come; they'll all be here directly.

MURIEL.

[_Sitting in the screen-chair._] Sophy, you have heard some story--

SOPHY.

[_Examining_ MURIEL'S _hands._] A little varnishing is all you need
to-day.

MURIEL.

You shall tell me!

SOPHY.

[_Proceeding with her work methodically._] It's nothing much; I'm sorry
I--

MURIEL.

[_Imperatively._] Sophy!

SOPHY.

[_Reluctantly._] Oh, well--well, when I was at Mrs. Beaupoint's in
Grosvenor Street--

MURIEL.

Yes?

SOPHY.

A Lady Pumphrey came to stay there with a goodish-looking maid--Edith
Smith her name was--

MURIEL.

Never mind her name!

SOPHY.

And they'd lately met Lord Quex in a country house in Worcestershire.
Well, he had kissed _her_--Smith admitted it.

MURIEL.

Kissed whom--Lady Pumphrey?

SOPHY.

Oh, of course he'd kissed Lady Pumphrey; but he kissed Smith afterwards,
when he tipped her. She told me what he said.

MURIEL.

What did he say?

SOPHY.

He said, "There's a little something for yourself, my girl."

MURIEL.

[_Starting to her feet and walking away._] My heavens! a Maid! what next
am I to hear--his _blanchisseuse_? [_Sinking into a chair._] Oh! oh,
dear!

SOPHY.

[_Turning in her chair to face_ MURIEL.] It's one thing I always meant
to keep to myself.

MURIEL.

[_Bitterly._] Still, I have promised to forgive him for so much already!
And, after all, this occurred a long while ago.

SOPHY.

[_Thoughtfully._] Ye--e--es. I suppose if you _did_ find him up to
anything of that sort now, you'd--what would you do?

MURIEL.

Do! [_With all her heart._] Marry Napier Bastling.

SOPHY.

[_Rising--a mischievous light in her eyes._] Ah--! I almost wish it
_would_ happen!

MURIEL.

Sophy!

SOPHY.

[_Leaning against the edge of the circular table, gripping_ MURIEL'S
_hand._] Just for your sake, darling. [_In a low voice._] I almost wish
_I_ could come across him in some quiet little shady spot--

MURIEL.

[_Looking up at_ SOPHY, _horrified._] What!

SOPHY.

In one of those greeny nooks you've told me of, at Fauncey Court.
[_Between her teeth._] If he ever tried to kiss _me_, and I told you of
it, you'd take my word for it, wouldn't you?

MURIEL.

[_Starting to her feet._] For shame! how dare you let such an idea enter
your head? you, a respectable girl, just engaged yourself--!

SOPHY.

[_With a quick look towards the window._] Oh, yes! hush! [_Clapping her
hand to her mouth._] Oh, what would Valma say if he knew I'd talked in
this style!

[_The door-gong sounds._

MURIEL

Here they are.

SOPHY.

[_As they hastily return to their chairs._] Darling, I was only thinking
of you and the poor Captain. [_With another glance towards the window._]
Phew! if my Valma knew!

[_They resume their seats, and the manicuring is continued._

MISS LIMBIRD _enters, preceding_ LORD QUEX _and the_ COUNTESS OF
OWBRIDGE, MRS. JACK EDEN _and_ FRAYNE. MISS MOON _follows._ LADY
OWBRIDGE _is a very old lady in a mouse- wig, with a pale,
anxious face, watery eyes, and no eyebrows._ MRS. EDEN _is an
ultra-fashionably-dressed woman of about thirty, shrill and_ maniere.

QUEX.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE, _who is upon his arm._] Yes, a curious phase of
modern life. Many people come to these places for rest.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Looking about her shrinkingly._] For rest, Henry?

QUEX.

Certainly. I know a woman--I _knew_ a woman who used to declare that her
sole repose during the Season was the half-hour with the manicurist.

MRS. EDEN.

How are you, Sophy?

SOPHY.

How are you to-day, Mrs. Eden?

MRS. EDEN.

Lady Owbridge, this is Miss Fullgarney, whom you've heard about.

[SOPHY _rises, makes a bob, and sits again._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Seated._] I hope you're quite well, my dear.

SOPHY.

[_Busy over_ MURIEL'S _nails._] Thanks, my lady; I hope you're the same.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Sitting._] What is your opinion of the picture, Lady Owbridge?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Not hearing._] Eh?

QUEX.

Moses in the Bulrushes--what d'ye think of it?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Tearfully._] They treat such subjects nowadays with too little
reverence.

FRAYNE.

[_Thoughtlessly._] Too much Pharaoh's daughter and too little Moses.

QUEX.

[_Frowning him down._] Phsst!

MRS. EDEN.

Certainly the handmaidens remind one of the young ladies in the ballet
at the Empire.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

The Empire?

MRS. EDEN.

[_Checking herself._] Oh--!

QUEX.

Popular place of entertainment.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Ah? The only place of that kind I have visited for some years is the
Imperial Institute.

[MRS. EDEN _rises, laughing to herself, and joins_ SOPHY _and_ MURIEL.
FRAYNE _is now establishing cordial relations between himself and_ MISS
MOON.

MRS. EDEN.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Well, Sophy, and how's your business getting along?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_To_ QUEX, _after ascertaining that_ FRAYNE _is not near her._] Oh,
Henry, I have asked Sir Chichester to drive down to us to-night, to
dine.

QUEX.

[_Watching_ FRAYNE _with apprehension._] Ah, yes, delightful. [_Trying
to gain_ FRAYNE'S _attention--warningly._] Phsst! phsst!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Plucking at_ QUEX'S _coat._] I feel that Sir Chichester is a very
wholesome friend for you, Henry.

QUEX.

Very. Phsst!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

What is the name of the West African place?--Uumbos--Uumbos seems to
have improved him vastly.

QUEX.

[_In a low voice._] Chichester!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

And it is our wish that you should associate for the future only with
grey-haired men.

[MISS MOON _now withdraws, with_ FRAYNE _at her heels._

MURIEL.

[_Rising and coming to_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] I'm ready, dear Lady Owbridge.
Look! you can see your face in them.

[LADY OWBRIDGE _rises;_ MURIEL _displays her nails._ LADY OWBRIDGE
_shakes her head gravely, while_ QUEX _bends over_ MURIEL'S _hands
gallantly._

MRS. EDEN.

[_To_ SOPHY.] My hands need trimming up desperately badly. That maid of
mine is a fool at fingers.

SOPHY.

Can't you stay now?

MRS. EDEN.

[_With an impatient movement of the head towards_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Oh,
lord, no. [_Suddenly._] I say, I wish you'd run down to Richmond, to
Fauncey Court, and do me. Could you?

SOPHY.

[_Innocently._] Oh, yes.

MRS. EDEN.

To-night, before dinner?

SOPHY.

I think I can.

MRS. EDEN.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Lady Owbridge, Miss Fullgarney is coming down to
Richmond this evening to manicure me. Do, do, do let her give your nails
the fashionable cut. [_Going to_ QUEX _and_ MURIEL.] Everybody is
wearing pointed nails this Season.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Advancing to_ SOPHY.] Ah, no, no. These practices are somewhat
shocking to an old woman. [_To_ SOPHY.] But I don't blame you. [_Laying
her hand upon_ SOPHY'S _arm, kindly._] So you're Miss Eden's
foster-sister, eh?

SOPHY.

I've that honour, my lady.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

You look a little thin. Come down to Fauncey Court to-day as soon as
your duties will release you. Spend as many hours there as you can.

SOPHY.

Oh, my lady!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Run about the grounds--go wherever you please; and get the air into
your lungs. [_With gracious formality._] Remember, I invite you.

MURIEL.

[_Innocently._] How good of you, Lady Owbridge!

SOPHY.

Thank you, my lady.

[FRAYNE _returns--accompanied by_ MISS MOON, _who carries a neat
package--and settles an account with_ MISS LIMBIRD _at the desk._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_To_ SOPHY.] You shall be well looked after.

[_She shakes hands with_ FRAYNE.

MURIEL.

[_Kissing_ SOPHY.] We shall meet by-and-by.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Muriel--young people--

[MURIEL _joins_ LADY OWBRIDGE; _they go out together._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Nodding to_ SOPHY.] This evening, Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_In a flutter of simple pleasure._] Yes, Mrs. Eden.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Shaking hands with_ FRAYNE.] Till dinner--

[_She goes out._

QUEX.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Good-bye, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Tripping across the room._] Good-day, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Joining_ FRAYNE.] Are you coming, Chick?

FRAYNE.

[_Taking the parcel from_ MISS MOON, _and turning to_ QUEX, _rather
bitterly._] I say, that gal has made me buy something I don't want. They
stick you here frightfully--

QUEX.

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

[_They go out together._

SOPHY.

[_Adjusting her hair at the mirror._] Come, girls! look alive! no more
work for me to-day! I'm off home to change my frock. I've got an invite
down to Richmond. My hat and coat!

[_The door-gong sounds._ MISS MOON _disappears at the door in the
partition._ MISS HUDDLE _enters._

SOPHY.

Miss Hud-delle, please run next door, and ask Mr. Valma to step this way
for a moment.

MISS HUDDLE.

He's on the leads, Miss Fullgarney, smoking a cigarette.

SOPHY.

[_Running across to the window._] Get my bag of tools ready! sharp!
[MISS HUDDLE _and_ MISS LIMBIRD _go out;_ SOPHY _opens the window and
calls._] Valma! Valma! Valma!

[MISS MOON _returns with_ SOPHY'S _hat, coat, gloves and umbrella._

MISS MOON.

Your things, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Taking them from her._] Send for a hansom--a smart one.

[MISS MOON _runs out as_ VALMA _enters at the window._

SOPHY.

[_Breathlessly._] Valma--Valma, love! I've got an invite down to
Richmond--Lady Owbridge--she's asked me specially! I'm going home to my
place to smarten-up. Isn't it jolly? [_In an outburst._] Oh, love, you
might give-up for to-day, and take me down!

VALMA.

May I?

SOPHY.

May you! Your hat--get your hat! you'll find me outside in a cab.

[_He hurries away._

MISS LIMBIRD, _carrying a leather bag, enters, followed by_ MISS
CLARIDGE _and_ MISS HUDDLE.

SOPHY.

[_As she, with the aid of her girls, pins on her hat and scrambles into
her coat._] You know, girls, many a silly person's head would be turned
at being asked to a place like Fauncey Court--as a guest, bear in mind.
But there, the houses I've been in!--it's nothing to me. Still,
specially invited by the Countess of Owbridge herself--! [_Putting her
feet in turn upon a chair and hitching up her stockings._] I shall just
make rather a favour of manicuring Mrs. Jack. One doesn't go visiting to
cut Mrs. Jack's claws. Gloves! Thank goodness, the evenings are long!
they say it's simply heavenly at Fauncey Court--simply heaven--[_She
breaks off abruptly, staring straight before her. Under her breath._]
Oh--! Fauncey Court--Lord Quex--!

MISS CLARIDGE.

What's the matter, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

N--n--nothing.

MISS MOON.

[_Entering._] Cab, Miss Fullgarney!

SOPHY.

[_In an altered voice._] Bag. [_She takes her bag from_ MISS LIMBIRD
_and walks away, rather slowly, with her head down. Quietly, without
turning._] See you in the morning, girls.

THE FOUR GIRLS.

Good afternoon, Miss Fullgarney.

[SOPHY _goes out._


END OF THE FIRST ACT.




THE SECOND ACT


_The scene represents a portion of an English garden laid out in Italian
fashion. At the extreme back--upon ground slightly raised--two dense
cypress-hedges, about sixteen feet high, form an alley running from
right to left. In the centre of the hedge which is nearer the spectator
there is an opening, and at this opening are three or four steps
connecting the higher with the lower level. Beyond the alley nothing is
seen but the sky and some tree-tops. In advance is an enclosure formed
by a dwarf cypress-hedge, about four feet in height, also broken in the
centre by an opening, and running off right and left at a sharp angle.
On the outside of the dwarf hedge is a walk; and beyond, on the right
and left, are trees. Within the enclosure, on the left, is a small
fountain; facing the fountain, on the right, a piece of old, broken
sculpture. Other bits of antique sculpture are placed in different parts
of the garden. In the foreground, on the right towards the centre,
stands a stone bench, on the left of which is a table upon which are the
remains of "afternoon tea," with a garden chair. A similar stone bench
stands opposite._

_The light is that of a very fine evening._

[LADY OWBRIDGE _is in the garden-chair, asleep, an open book in her
lap._ QUEX _and_ MURIEL _stand, talking together, by the fountain. On
the right-hand stone bench the_ DUCHESS OF STROOD _and_ MRS. EDEN
_are seated. The_ DUCHESS _is a daintily beautiful doll of
about seven-and-thirty--a_ poseuse, _outwardly dignified and stately
when upon her guard, really a frail, shallow little creature full of
extravagant sentimentality. Until_ LADY OWBRIDGE _wakes, the
conversation is carried on in subdued tones._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Indicating_ MURIEL _and_ QUEX.] They make a fascinating couple, don't
they, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[_With placid melancholy._] To see two people on the threshold of
wedlock is always painfully interesting.

MRS. EDEN.

I am quite triumphant about it. It is such a delightful engagement, now
that the horrid difficulties are smoothed away.

DUCHESS.

Yes, you were telling me of some sad obstacles--

MRS. EDEN.

I nearly perished of them! [_Very confidentially._] There's no doubt,
you know, that his past _has_ been exceptionally naughty.

DUCHESS.

Really? Ah! don't be surprised that I am not more deeply shocked. In
these surroundings it is hard to realise that every aspect of life is
not as lovely as--[_pointing to the foliage_] the tones of those
exquisite, deep greens, for example.

MRS. EDEN.

However, the dear thing is going to be _so_ good in the future.
[_Turning to the_ DUCHESS.] I keep forgetting--Lord Quex is a very old
friend of yours?

DUCHESS.

[_Serenely._] An acquaintance of many years' standing. But since his
Grace has been an invalid we have lived much abroad, or in seclusion,
and gossip has not reached us. Alas, you find me a ready subject _a
desillusionner_! [_Rising._] We are in the sun. Shall we walk?

MRS. EDEN.

[_Sympathetically, as they walk._] Is his Grace still very unwell?

DUCHESS.

[_Smiling sadly upon_ MRS. EDEN.] He is still over seventy.

[_They wander away, through the trees, as_ QUEX _and_ MURIEL _leave the
fountain._

QUEX.

[_With tender playfulness, first glancing at the sleeping_ LADY
OWBRIDGE.] And so all these good things are to befall me after
to-morrow?

MURIEL.

[_In a low voice._] After to-morrow.

QUEX.

When I approach, I shall no longer see you skim away into the far vista
of these alleys, or shrink back into the shadows of the
corridors--[_prosaically_] after to-morrow.

MURIEL.

No--not after to-morrow.

QUEX.

In place of a cold word, a chilling phrase, a warm one--after to-morrow.

MURIEL.

I am going to try.

QUEX.

If I touch your hand, you'll not slip it behind your back in a hurry
[_touching her hand_]--?

MURIEL.

[_Withdrawing it._] Not after to-morrow.

[_She sits; he stands behind the stone bench, leaning over the back of
it._

QUEX.

But why, may I ask, is this bliss reserved till after _to-morrow_?

MURIEL.

I had rather you did _not_ ask me, Quex.

QUEX.

No? I see, I am a day too soon in putting even that little question.

MURIEL.

Ah, I'll tell you this--I am going to turn over a new leaf, after
to-morrow.

QUEX.

You! your pages are all milk-white. What can you detect upon one of them
to induce you to turn it?

MURIEL.

[_Gazing into space._] I--I've been scribbling there--scrawling--drawing
pictures--

QUEX.

Pictures--of what?

MURIEL.

You shall know, perhaps, some day.

QUEX.

After to-morrow?

MURIEL.

Yes, Quex, but--after many to-morrows.

[TWO MEN-SERVANTS--_an old man and a young one--descend the steps and
proceed to remove the tea-things._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Waking._] Eh--? [_Seeing_ MURIEL _and_ QUEX.] Ah, my dears--! I am
reading such an absorbing book.

MURIEL.

[_By her side, taking the book._] May I--?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

You should study the Dean of St. Olpherts' sermons--and you, Henry.

QUEX.

[_Taking the book from_ MURIEL _and turning its pages._] Yes, I must--I
must--

LADY OWBRIDGE.

By the way, has anything been seen of that nice young manicure girl,
Miss Sophy--something--?

MURIEL.

Sophy Fullgarney--she arrived at about half-past four, and I asked Mrs.
Gregory to show her over the house. I thought you would not object.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Object! it pleases me.

MURIEL.

She is roving about the grounds now.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

An exceedingly prepossessing young woman, of her class.

[_The_ SERVANTS _have gone up the steps, carrying the tea-things._

THE ELDER SERVANT.

[_Looking down the alley towards the left._] I see the young person, my
lady.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

I'll speak to her, Bristow.

[_The_ ELDER SERVANT _goes off towards the left; the younger one,
bearing the tray, to the right. The_ DUCHESS _and_ MRS. EDEN _return,
above the low cypress-hedge;_ QUEX _meets them._

MURIEL.

I would not have left her, but the young man she is engaged to brought
her down, and I took it upon myself to give him permission to remain.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Oh, is Miss Fullgarney engaged?

MURIEL.

To Mr. Valma, the palmist.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Approaching._] Valma, the palmist!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

What is a palmist, pray?

MURIEL.

He reads your past and your future in the lines of your hands. It's his
profession, dear Lady Owbridge.

MRS. EDEN.

Oh, do let us have him into the drawing-room after dinner! I hear he is
simply charming.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Charming! [_Rising._] What are our ladies coming to! Dear, dear me! in
my day such follies and superstitions were entirely restricted to the
kitchen.

[MURIEL _joins the_ DUCHESS. QUEX _is dutifully looking into the book of
sermons. The servant returns, followed by_ SOPHY, _and then retires;_
SOPHY _comes forward, beamingly. She is prettily dressed, but in sober
colours._

SOPHY.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Here I am, my lady. I'm having such a good time!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

That's right.

SOPHY.

Oh, this garden! they may well call it heavenly.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

They ought not to call it that, my dear. But it is indeed full of
earthly solace.

SOPHY.

It must be. And what a place for a bicycle!

MURIEL.

[_Reprovingly._] Bicycles are not allowed to enter these grounds, Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_Sobered._] Oh--!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Miss Eden tells me you are accompanied by the young man to whom you are
engaged to be married.

SOPHY.

I hope I haven't taken too great a liberty--

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Looking round._] I don't see him.

SOPHY.

He has run back to the station. I've just found out I left my bag in
the fly that brought us here. So stupid of me!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Mrs. Gregory will give you, both, dinner.

SOPHY.

Thank you, my lady.

[_The_ DUCHESS _is now seated in the garden-chair. The younger of the
two servants enters, carrying_ SOPHY'S _bag and the evening papers._

SERVANT.

[_Handing the bag to_ SOPHY.] The cabman has brought your bag back,
miss.

SOPHY.

There now! Much obliged. [_To_ MRS. EDEN.] Poor Mr. Valma will have his
tramp for nothing, won't he?

[SOPHY _and_ MRS. EDEN _talk together._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

The evening papers, Morgan?

SERVANT.

[_Who has laid the papers upon the table._] Yes, my lady.

[_The_ SERVANT _retires._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

So late? we must go in and dress.

DUCHESS.

[_Who has been occupied in observing_ QUEX.] I'll follow you, dear Lady
Owbridge.

[LADY OWBRIDGE _moves away and is joined by_ MRS. EDEN.

MRS. EDEN.

[_As she ascends the steps with_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Sophy, I shall be ready
for you in a quarter of an hour.

SOPHY.

All right, Mrs. Eden.

[LADY OWBRIDGE _and_ MRS. EDEN _disappear._

MURIEL.

[_Crossing to_ SOPHY.] Wouldn't you like to walk to the gates to meet
Mr. Valma?

SOPHY.

Thanks, dear, I think I would.

MURIEL.

I can show you a nearer way than by going back to the house. [_Pointing
into the distance._] Follow this hedge and take the second alley--not
the first--on your left. When you reach the big fountain--

[QUEX, _still dipping into the sermons, has come down to the back of the
table. He now throws the book upon the table and picks up a newspaper._

QUEX.

I beg your pardon, Duchess--I didn't see you.

DUCHESS.

[_In a whisper._] Harry--

QUEX.

[_Startled._] Eh?

DUCHESS.

I will hurry into my gown and return. Be here in a quarter of an hour.

QUEX.

May I ask--the reason?

DUCHESS.

[_A newspaper in her hand--talking to him, in undertones, over the top
of it._] For a week, only the merest commonplaces have passed between
us. I must relieve my heart; it is bursting!

QUEX.

I entreat you to consider my position.

DUCHESS.

Yours! have _I_ no reputation to endanger? [_Rising--laying the paper
aside._] What a pitiably small request! you will grant it?

QUEX.

If you could see your way to excuse me--

DUCHESS.

In memory of the past--! I demand it!

QUEX.

[_With a stiff bow._] Oh--oh, certainly.

DUCHESS.

[_Leaving him._] Thank you.

QUEX.

[_To himself._] Damn!

[_He turns on his heel and walks away._

DUCHESS.

[_Joining_ MURIEL.] You are coming to dress?

MURIEL.

[_After smiling assent, presenting_ SOPHY.] Miss Fullgarney was my first
playmate, Duchess.

DUCHESS.

[_Looking upon_ SOPHY _graciously._] Ah? [_To_ MURIEL.] The souvenirs of
childhood are sweet, are they not?

[_She slips her arm through_ MURIEL'S, _and they ascend the steps and go
away together._ SOPHY _comes to the stone bench on the left, upon which
she deposits her bag. She opens the bag, produces a little mirror and a
comb, and puts her "fringe" in order--humming as she does so an air from
the latest comic opera. Then she returns the comb and mirror to the bag
and--bag in hand--prepares to depart. While this is going on_ QUEX
_returns, above the low hedge. He ascends the steps and looks off into
the distance, watching the retreating figure of the_ DUCHESS. _After a
moment or two he shrugs his shoulders in a perplexed, troubled way,
and, coming down the steps, encounters_ SOPHY.

SOPHY.

[_Innocently._] Lovely evening, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Passing her, with a nod and a smile._] Very--very.

[_At the table, he exchanges the newspaper he carries for another. She
is going in the direction indicated by_ MURIEL. _Suddenly she pauses,
above the dwarf cypress-hedge, and stands looking at_ QUEX _with an
expression in which fear and determination are mingled. Having selected
his newspaper,_ QUEX _crosses to the left and sits, reading._

SOPHY.

[_Coming to him._] I don't think I shall go, after all.

QUEX.

[_Lowering his paper._] Eh?

SOPHY.

I was just starting off down to the gates, you know, to meet Mr. Valma.

QUEX.

[_With amiable indifference._] Oh?

SOPHY.

[_Her head upon one side, smiling._] But it's too hot for walking, isn't
it?

QUEX.

[_Resuming his reading._] It is warm.

SOPHY.

[_Putting her bag upon the table and removing her gloves._] Phew!

[_She eyes him askance, undecided, as to a plan of action. He lowers his
paper again, disconcerting her._

QUEX.

You don't feel you _ought_ to go and meet your--Mr. Valma?

SOPHY.

[_Edging towards him._] I might miss him--mightn't I?

QUEX.

Certainly--you might.

SOPHY.

Besides, it wouldn't do for me to attend upon Mrs. Jack--Mrs. Eden--all
puffing and towzelled; [_archly_] now, would it?

QUEX.

[_Resuming his reading._] You're the best judge.

SOPHY.

So I've a quarter of an hour to fill in somehow. [_A pause._] I've a
quarter of an hour to fill in somehow.

QUEX.

[_Behind his paper, beginning to be extremely bored._] Indeed?

SOPHY.

[_Quaking._] I--I wish there were some quiet little shady places to
ramble about in, here at Fauncey Court.

QUEX.

There are several.

SOPHY.

Are there?... are there?

QUEX.

[_Turning his paper._] Oh, yes, a great many.

SOPHY.

You see, I'm a stranger--

QUEX.

[_Kindly._] Well, you run along; you'll find 'em. [_She walks away
slowly, baffled. He glances at her over his paper, slightly puzzled._]
Have you seen the grotto?

SOPHY.

[_Turning sharply._] No.

QUEX.

[_Pointing towards the right._] It's in that direction.

SOPHY.

Grotto? Dark, I suppose, and lonelyish?

QUEX.

You said you desired shade and quiet.

SOPHY.

Yes, but not darkness. Fancy me in a grotto all by myself ... by
myself...!

QUEX.

[_Behind his paper again._] I'm afraid I have no further suggestion to
offer.

[_There is another pause; then her face lights up, and she comes down to
him swiftly._

SOPHY.

[_Close to him._] Show me your nails, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Lowering his paper._] My nails?

SOPHY.

[_Taking his hand and examining it._] Excuse me. Oh, my lord, for shame!

QUEX.

You take exception to them?

SOPHY.

This is hacking, not cutting. You ought never to be allowed within a
mile of a pair of scissors.

QUEX.

[_Looking at his other hand._] Oh, come! they're hardly as bad as all
that.

SOPHY

[_Examining that hand also._] Ha, ha, ha!

QUEX.

[_Rising, somewhat abashed._] Ha! I confess I am a little unskilful at
such operations.

SOPHY.

No gentleman should trust to himself where his nails are concerned. Why,
a man's hand has lost him a young lady's affections before this! I've
heard of heaps of cases where matches have been broken off--

QUEX.

[_Putting his hands behind him, smiling._] Really? the results of
manicure are more far-reaching than I had imagined.

SOPHY.

You, see, my lord, when a man's courting he is free to look his young
lady in the face for as long as he chooses; it's considered proper and
attentive. But the girl is expected to drop _her_ eyes, and then--what
has _she_ to look at? Why, a well-trimmed hand or an ugly one. [_Taking
off her rings._] Now then, I'll do wonders for you in ten minutes.

QUEX.

Thank you; I am not going indoors just yet.

SOPHY.

No need to go indoors. [_Depositing her rings upon the table and opening
her bag._] I've got my bag here, with all my tools--see!

QUEX.

Ah, but I won't trouble you this evening. Another occasion--

SOPHY.

[_Arranging her manicure instruments, &c., upon the table._] No trouble
at all, my lord--quite an honour. [_Indicating the stone bench._] Please
sit down there. [_Producing a little brass bowl._] Water--?

[_She runs to the fountain and fills her bowl from its basin._

QUEX.

[_Crossing, hesitatingly, to the right--looking at his nails and
speaking in a formal manner._] You have been bidden to Fauncey Court for
rest and relaxation, Miss Fullgarney; it is most obliging of you to
allow your pleasure to be disturbed in this way.

SOPHY.

[_Returning to him._] Oh, don't say that, my lord. [_Putting the bowl on
the table and dragging the garden-chair forward to face him._] Business
_is_ a pleasure, sometimes.

[_Her close proximity to him forces him back upon the bench._

QUEX.

[_Seated--stiffly._] You must, at least, let me open an account at your
excellent establishment.

SOPHY.

Not I. [_Seated--taking his right hand._] One may work occasionally for
love, I should hope? [_archly_] ha, ha! just for love, eh?

QUEX

[_Uncomfortably._] No, no, I couldn't permit it--I couldn't permit it.

SOPHY.

[_Holding his hand almost caressingly._] Well, well! we'll see--we'll
see. [_She clips his nails briskly and methodically. While she does so
she again hums a song, looking up at him at intervals enticingly, under
her lashes. Breaking off in her song._] My goodness! what a smooth,
young hand you have!

QUEX.

[_His discomfort increasing._] Er--indeed?

SOPHY.

Many a man of six-and-twenty would be glad to own such hands, I can tell
you. [_Patting his hand reprovingly._] Keep still! [_It is now his turn
to hum a song, which he does, under his breath, to disguise his
embarrassment. She looks up at him._] But then, you're an awfully young
man for your age, in every way, aren't you?

QUEX.

[_Gazing at the sky._] Oh, I don't know about that.

SOPHY.

[_Slyly._] You _do_ know. [_Wagging her head at him._] You _do_ know.

QUEX.

[_Relaxing slightly._] It may be so, of course, without one's being
conscious of it.

SOPHY.

_May_ be so! ah, ha! not conscious of it! ho! [_Slapping his hand again,
soundly._] Artful!

QUEX.

[_Flattered and amused._] No, no, I assure you! ha, ha!

[_They laugh together. His constraint gradually diminishes. After
shaking some liquid soap from a bottle into the bowl, she places the
bowl beside him on the bench._

SOPHY.

[_While doing this._] My young ladies at a-hundred-and-eighty-five all
agree with me about you.

QUEX.

Do they?

SOPHY.

Yes, do they!

QUEX.

Your young ladies?

SOPHY.

My girls.

QUEX.

Ha, ha, ha! And what terrible pronouncement has
a-hundred-and-eighty-five to pass upon me?

SOPHY.

Seven-and-thirty, _you_ look--not a day older; that's what _we_ say.
There, dip your fingers in that, do!

QUEX.

Into this?

SOPHY.

[_Thrusting his fingers into the bowl._] Baby! [_The water splashes over
her dress and his coat._] Oh!

QUEX.

I beg your pardon.

SOPHY.

Now what have you done? [_Wiping the water from his coat._] You clumsy
boy!

QUEX.

Thanks, thanks.

[_She commences operations upon his left hand. He is now thoroughly
entertained by her freedom and audacity._

SOPHY.

Ha, ha! do you know what _I_ maintain?

QUEX.

[_Laughing._] Upon my word, I dread to think.

SOPHY.

Why, that every man who looks younger than his years should be watched
by the police.

QUEX.

Good heavens, Sophy--Miss Fullgarney!

SOPHY.

Yes--as a dangerous person.

QUEX.

Dangerous! ho, come!

SOPHY.

[_With the suggestion of a wink._] Dangerous. The man who is younger
than he ought to be is always no better than he should be.

QUEX.

Ha, ha, ha!

SOPHY.

Am I right? am I right, eh? [_Putting her cheek near his lips--speaking
in a low voice, breathlessly, her eyes averted._] Tell me whether I'm
right, my lord.

[_For the first time, a suspicion of her designs crosses his mind. He
draws back slowly, eyeing her. There is a pause._

QUEX.

[_In an altered tone, but keeping her in play._] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
[_Looking at his watch._] I--I am afraid I shall have to run away to
dress for dinner very soon.

SOPHY.

[_Resuming her work, disappointed._] Not yet; you've plenty of time. But
there, dangerous or not dangerous, in my heart I can't help holding with
what my lady-customers are continually saying.

QUEX.

[_Watching her keenly._] No? and what are your lady-customers
continually saying?

SOPHY.

Why, that the young fellows of the day are such conceited, apish
creatures; no man under forty-five is worth wasting a minute's time
over.

QUEX.

Ho! they say that, your lady-customers?

SOPHY.

Yes; and they're good judges, they are.

QUEX.

Good judges! none better--none better.

SOPHY.

[_Laying her clipper aside suddenly, and putting her hand to her eyes
with a cry of pain._] Oh!

QUEX.

[_Coolly._] What's the matter?

SOPHY.

[_Rising._] A little splinter has flown into my eye It often happens.

QUEX.

[_Rising._] Extremely painful, I expect?

SOPHY.

[_Producing her handkerchief._] Very. [_Giving him her handkerchief._]
Do you think you could find it?

QUEX.

Certainly, if it's to be found.

SOPHY.

[_Holding the lapels of his coat, her head almost upon his shoulder, her
eyes closed._] Ah! please make haste and look for it!

QUEX.

Right or left?

SOPHY.

The ri--the left.

QUEX.

[_Sharply._] Raise your head. Stand up.

SOPHY.

[_Releasing his coat and raising her head._] Eh?

QUEX.

[_Sternly._] Open your eyes. Both of them. [_She opens her eyes and
stares at him. He returns her handkerchief._] There! I have removed the
splinter. [_She slowly backs away like a whipped child. He follows
her._] Miss Fullgarney, I understand you are engaged to be married--to
this young man, Valma?

SOPHY.

[_Tremblingly._] Yes, my lord.

QUEX.

Do you care for him?

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] Yes.

QUEX.

In love with him?

SOPHY.

Oh, yes, my lord, indeed.

QUEX.

And yet you still flirt?

SOPHY.

Y--es.

QUEX.

Take my advice--be satisfied with the kisses your sweetheart gives you.
Don't try to get them from other men, old or young.

SOPHY.

No--no--

QUEX.

[_Sternly, but kindly._] You little fool!

POLLITT _enters, wearing a tall hat and lemon- gloves._

POLLITT.

[_Jealously._] Sophy!

[QUEX _walks away._

SOPHY.

[_Falteringly._] The fly-man brought back the bag, Valma dear.

POLLITT.

I am aware of that. [_Lowering his voice._] What are you doing here with
Lord Quex?

SOPHY.

I--I've been manicuring him.

_The_ YOUNGER SERVANT _comes down the steps._

SERVANT.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Mrs. Eden is quite ready for you, miss.

[_She hurriedly replaces her manicure instruments, &c., in the bag,
hands the bowl to the_ SERVANT, _and, without looking at_ POLLITT _or_
QUEX, _goes swiftly up the steps and disappears. The_ SERVANT _follows
her, carrying the bowl._

POLLITT.

[_To_ QUEX.] Excuse me, my lord--

QUEX.

[_Coming forward, and picking up his newspaper._] Eh?

POLLITT.

That young lady and I are engaged to be married.

QUEX.

Mr.--Valma?

POLLITT.

Yes, my lord. [_Hotly._] And I very much object to her manicuring
gentlemen.

QUEX.

[_Dryly._] Well, there you have a little something to discuss at
home--before, and, perhaps, after marriage.

POLLITT.

I consider the custom of ladies manicuring gentlemen one that may
occasionally lead to undue familiarity, my lord.

QUEX.

I am inclined to agree with you, sir.

POLLITT.

And I shall do all I can to persuade Miss Fullgarney to relinquish
active participation in the business.

QUEX.

The palmistry profession is a flourishing one at present, eh, Mr. Valma?

POLLITT.

[_Loftily._] My engagement-book is always full. I have disappointed
several ladies by coming here this afternoon.

QUEX.

Poor women! Nevertheless, pray be careful how you slight the manicure
trade. Crazes die, you know--nails grow.

POLLITT.

[_Tapping his breast._] I think _we_ have come to stay, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Lightly._] Well, you're sailing pretty close to the wind, remember,
you fellows.

POLLITT.

My lord!

QUEX.

[_Replacing his newspaper upon the table._] And if some day you should
find yourselves in the police-court, alongside a poor old woman whose
hand has been crossed with a threepenny-bit down an area--

_The_ DUCHESS _appears on the further side of the low cypress-hedge. She
is dressed for dinner. The sky is now faintly rosy, and during the
ensuing scene it deepens into a rich sunset._

QUEX.

We are going to have a flaming sunset, Duchess.

DUCHESS.

Superb.

POLLITT.

[_Haughtily._] I wish you good evening, my lord.

QUEX.

Oh, good evening, Mr. Valma. [_To himself._] Impudent beggar!

[POLLITT _walks away. After watching his going, the_ DUCHESS _comes
eagerly forward._

DUCHESS.

[_Her hand upon her heart._] Oh! I am here, Harry!

QUEX.

[_In delicate protest._] Ah, my dear Duchess!

DUCHESS.

Fortunately I have been able to dress quickly without exciting
curiosity. My maid was summoned away this afternoon, to her father who
is sick. [_Sinking on to the bench._] Still, these risks are
considerable enough.

QUEX.

And yet you deliberately court them!

DUCHESS.

Great passions involve great dangers. The history of the world shows
that.

QUEX.

But why now--now that circumstances are altered between us? why, on
earth, do you play these hazardous tricks now?

DUCHESS.

I was determined to meet, to know, the girl with whom you are about to
_ranger_ yourself, Harry.

QUEX.

Even that could have been arrived at in some safer way.

DUCHESS.

Ah, but you fail to see; it was the daring of this proceeding that
attracted me--the romance of it!

QUEX.

[_Raising his hands._] Romance! still!

DUCHESS.

Always. It is the very blood in my veins. It keeps me young. I shall die
a romantic girl, however old I may be.

QUEX.

You ought, you really ought, to have flourished in the Middle Ages.

DUCHESS.

You have frequently made that observation. [_Rising._] I do live in the
Middle Ages, in my imagination. I live in every age in which Love was
not a cool, level emotion, but a fierce, all-conquering flame--a flame
that grew in the heart of a woman, that of a sudden spread through her
whole organism, that lit up her eyes with a light more refulgent than
the light of sun or moon! [_Laying her hand upon his arm._] Oh, oh, this
poor, thin, modern sentiment miscalled Love--!

QUEX.

[_Edging away._] Sssh! pray be careful!

DUCHESS.

Ah, yes. But, dear Harry, I cannot endure the ordeal any longer.

QUEX.

The ordeal?

DUCHESS.

The prolonged discomfort, to which I have subjected myself, of watching
your wooing of Miss Eden. I must go.

QUEX.

[_With ill-concealed relief._] Go! leave us?

DUCHESS.

I recognise how fitting it is that you should bring your wild, irregular
career to a close; but after to-morrow I shall cease to be a spectator
of these preliminaries.

QUEX.

[_His eyes sparkling._] After to-morrow!

DUCHESS.

Yes, I rejoin poor dear Strood on Friday. True, he has four nurses--he
always had four nurses, if you remember?

QUEX.

[_Sympathetically._] Three or four.

DUCHESS.

But then, nurses are but nurses. [_Nobly._] I must not forget that I am
a wife, Harry.

QUEX.

No, no--you mustn't forget that.

DUCHESS.

[_Gazing into his eyes._] And so, between you and me, [_placing her
hands upon his shoulders_] it is over.

QUEX.

[_Promptly._] Over.

DUCHESS.

Finally, irrevocably over.

QUEX.

[_Freeing himself._] Absolutely over. [_Taking her hand and bowing over
it solemnly._] Done with.

[_He walks away._

DUCHESS.

[_Moving slowly._] That is--almost over.

QUEX.

[_Turning sharply._] Almost?

DUCHESS.

We have yet to say good-bye, you know.

QUEX.

[_Returning to her, apprehensively._] We--we have said good-bye.

DUCHESS.

Ah, no, no!

QUEX.

[_Again bowing over her hand--with simulated feeling._] Good-bye.

DUCHESS.

[_Looking round._] What! _here_?

QUEX.

[_Humouring her._] This romantic old garden! [_pointing to the
statuary_] these silent witnesses--beholders, it is likely, of many
similar scenes! the--the--setting sun! Could any situation be more
appropriate?

DUCHESS.

But we are liable to be interrupted at any moment. The joint romance of
our lives, Harry, ought not to end with a curt word and formal
hand-shake in an exposed spot of this kind. [_Sitting in the garden
chair._] Oh, it cannot, must not, end so!

QUEX.

[_Eyeing her uneasily._] Frankly, I see nothing else for it.

DUCHESS.

I can't credit it. Why, what was the second reason for my coming here?

QUEX.

Second reason?

DUCHESS.

That our parting might be in keeping with our great attachment!

QUEX.

Impossible.

DUCHESS.

Impracticable?

QUEX.

In every way, impossible.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking his hand._] Oh, don't say that, dear Harry! Ah, the auguries
tell me that what I ask will be.

QUEX.

[_Omitting, in his anxiety, to withdraw his hand._] The auguries?

DUCHESS.

Fate--coincidence--call it what you please--foreshadows one more meeting
between us.

QUEX.

Coincidence?

DUCHESS.

[_Intensely, in a low voice._] Harry, do you remember a particular
evening at Stockholm?

QUEX.

[_Hazily._] Stockholm?

DUCHESS.

That evening upon which we discovered how much our society meant to each
other!

QUEX.

[_Vaguely, while he hastily recovers possession of his hand._] At
Stockholm was it--?

DUCHESS.

You were sailing with us in the Baltic--you must recollect? Our yacht
had put in at Stockholm; we had come to the Grand Hotel. Strood had
retired, and you and I were sitting out upon the balcony watching the
lights of the cafe on the Norrbro and the tiny steamboats that stole to
and fro across the harbour. Surely you recollect?

QUEX.

Yes, yes, of course.

DUCHESS.

Well, do you remember the brand of the champagne you sipped while you
and I sat smoking?

QUEX.

Good lord, no!

DUCHESS.

"Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or." You remarked that it was a brand unknown
to you. Have you ever met it since, Harry?

QUEX.

Not that I--

DUCHESS.

Nor I till last night, at dinner. [_Impressively._] It is in this very
house.

QUEX.

[_With a slight shrug of the shoulders._] Extremely probable.

DUCHESS.

And do you remember how I was clad, that evening at Stockholm?

QUEX.

I am afraid I don't.

DUCHESS.

_Couleur de rose garnie de vert_. I have just such another garment with
me.

QUEX.

Really?

DUCHESS.

Do you remember in what month we were at Stockholm?

QUEX.

No.

DUCHESS.

June--this month. Nor the day of the week?

QUEX.

It must be ten years ago!

DUCHESS.

Wednesday. There stands the record in my diary.

QUEX.

Diary! good heavens, you are not so indiscreet--!

DUCHESS.

No, no--only the words, "warm evening." Yes, it was upon a Wednesday.
What is to-day?

QUEX.

Wednesday.

DUCHESS.

[_Rising._] Harry, I want to see you sipping that brand of champagne
once more, while you and I sit facing one another, silently, dreamily
smoking Argyropulos.

QUEX.

[_Negatively_.] Duchess--

DUCHESS.

To end as we began! you have not the heart to refuse?

QUEX.

I--

DUCHESS.

You do refuse?

QUEX.

I do.

[_She passes him, and again sinks upon the bench._

DUCHESS.

[_Her back towards him, her shoulders heaving._] Oh! oh!

QUEX.

I--I am profoundly sorry to be obliged to speak to you in this fashion.

DUCHESS.

Oh, then I cannot go on Friday!

QUEX.

Not!

DUCHESS.

No! no! no!

QUEX.

Believe me, it would be better for you, for me, for everybody--

DUCHESS.

I cannot! [_Producing a diminutive lace handkerchief._] In the first
shock of the news of your engagement--for it was a shock--one thought
consoled me; throughout the time that has elapsed since then I have fed
upon this same thought--there will be a parting in keeping with our
great attachment! And now, you would rob me even of that!

QUEX.

But--but--but--a solemn, deliberate leave-taking! the ceremony, of all
others, to be carefully avoided!

DUCHESS.

Not by me, Harry--not by me. I wish to carry, in my breast, from this
house the numb despair of a piteous climax. I cannot drive away smugly
from these gates with the simple feelings of a woman who has been paying
a mere visit--I cannot!

QUEX.

My dear Sidonia--!

DUCHESS.

[_Decidedly._] I say I cannot!

QUEX.

[_To himself, with a little groan._] Oh! phew!

[_He walks to and fro impatiently, reflecting._ SOPHY, _without her hat,
comes quickly down the steps as if making for the table. Seeing_ QUEX
_and the_ DUCHESS, _she draws back, inquisitively._

QUEX.

[_By the_ DUCHESS'S _side again, helplessly._] Well, I--ha!--I--

DUCHESS.

[_Rising eagerly, laying a hand upon his arm._] You _will_?

[SOPHY _stoops down behind the dwarf cypress-hedge._

QUEX.

You are certain--certain that this would effectually remove the
obstacle to your rejoining--[_with a wave of the hand_] on Friday?

DUCHESS.

Why, do you think I would risk an anticlimax? [_In an intense whisper._]
To-night! [_Louder._] To-night? [_He hesitates a little longer--then
bows in assent, stiffly and coldly. She gives an ardent sigh._] Ah--!
[_He retreats a step or two. She draws herself up with dignity._]
To-night then--

[_She turns from him and glides away through the trees. He stands for a
moment, a frown upon his face, in thought._

QUEX.

[_Suddenly, moving in the direction she has taken._] No, no! Duchess--!
[_A gong sounds in the distance, he pauses, looking at his watch,
angrily._] Ptshah! [_He turns up the stage and discovers_ SOPHY, _who is
now standing behind the hedge._] Hallo! [SOPHY _advances, laughing
rather foolishly._] What are you doing here?

SOPHY.

Looking for my rings. I took them off before I began manicuring you.

QUEX.

[_Pointing to the hedge._] You didn't drop them there, did you?

SOPHY.

No, I left them on the table.

QUEX.

[_Looking towards the table._] _There's_ the table.

SOPHY.

[_Coming to the table and putting on her rings_.] Yes, I know.

QUEX.

[_After a short pause._] How long have you been here?

SOPHY.

I? Oh, I'd just come as you spoke to me.

QUEX.

[_Half-satisfied._] Oh--?

[_He goes up the steps, gives her a parting look, and, disappears. It is
now twilight._ MRS. EDEN, FRAYNE, _and_ MURIEL--_all dressed for
dinner--appear on the other side of the low hedge._

MRS. EDEN.

[_To_ FRAYNE, _walking with him above the hedge._] Delightful, isn't it?
It was planted by the late Lord Owbridge's father a hundred years ago.

FRAYNE.

[_Seeing_ SOPHY.] Why, isn't that the young manicure lady?

MRS. EDEN.

Yes. All these pieces of sculpture are genuine old Italian. This quaint
little fountain came from the Villa Marchotti--

FRAYNE.

[_Edging towards_ SOPHY.] Alluring.

MRS. EDEN.

This is the fountain.

FRAYNE.

[_Returning to her_.] Quaint old fountain.

SOPHY.

[_To_ MURIEL, _across the hedge in a whisper._] Darling!

MRS. EDEN.

[_Looking into the distance._] I think I see the dear Duchess.

FRAYNE.

[_Alertly._] Where?

MRS. EDEN.

There.

FRAYNE.

I have the honour of knowing her Grace slightly.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Moving away._] What a sweet woman!

FRAYNE.

[_Following her._] Alluring!

[_They disappear through the trees as_ MURIEL, _coming from below the
hedge, joins_ SOPHY.

SOPHY.

Darling!

MURIEL.

What is it, Sophy?

SOPHY.

Lord Quex and this--this Duchess--they know each other very well, of
course?

MURIEL.

They are old acquaintances, I understand.

SOPHY.

Ah!

MURIEL.

Why do you ask?

SOPHY.

I've just seen them together, talking.

MURIEL.

Talking? why not?

SOPHY.

Yes, but how?

MURIEL.

How?

SOPHY.

I'll tell you. After you went indoors to dress, I took off my rings and
put them on that table. [_Looking away rather guiltily._] Rings fidget
me, this hot weather--don't they you? Well, just as I'd finished with
Mrs. Jack, it suddenly struck me--my rings!--and I hurried back to fetch
them. When I got here, I came across Lord Quex and the Duchess.

MURIEL.

[_Calmly._] Yes?

SOPHY.

I stooped down behind that hedge there.

MURIEL.

You did not!

SOPHY.

Oh, I suppose you consider it mean!

MURIEL.

Despicable!

SOPHY.

Despicable, is it! I don't care! My goodness, I'd do the shabbiest thing
a woman could do to save you from him!

MURIEL.

[_Peering among the trees._] Hush, hush, hush!

SOPHY.

[_On the verge of tears._] Perhaps you fancy I'm mean from choice?
Perhaps you imagine--?

MURIEL.

Be quiet, Sophy!

SOPHY.

[_Giving a sniff and lowering her voice._] Well, here they were,
standing exactly where you are, close to each other. [MURIEL _changes
her position._] I saw her touch his arm. Oh, I'm positive there's
something between those two! "You will?" I heard her say. And then he
made a remark about Friday--Friday--

MURIEL.

The Duchess goes on Friday.

SOPHY.

That was it, of course! And then she mumbled something I couldn't catch;
and then--listen to this!--then she said "to-night," quite plainly.
_To-night!_ and in such a tone of voice! And then he bowed, and out she
came with "to-night" again--"to-night," for the second time--and away
she went. Now, what do you think that "to-night" of hers means?

MURIEL.

[_Coldly, seating herself upon the bench._] Nothing--anything.

SOPHY.

Nothing!

MURIEL.

A hundred topics of conversation would lead to such an expression.
[_Looking at_ SOPHY _steadily._] You are mistaken in the construction
you put upon it.

SOPHY.

[_Quietly._] Mistaken, am I?

MURIEL.

[_With clenched hands._] The Duchess of Strood is a most immaculate
woman. [_Suddenly._] Oh, it would be too infamous!

[_The_ DUCHESS _and_ FRAYNE, _followed by_ MRS. EDEN, _reappear behind
the low hedge._ SOPHY _retreats to the back of the bench upon which_
MURIEL _is sitting. The_ DUCHESS _and_ FRAYNE _approach, talking,
while_ MRS. EDEN _chats to_ SOPHY _across the hedge._

FRAYNE.

[_To the_ DUCHESS, _gallantly._] I am flattered by your remembrance of
me, Duchess. When we last met I had hardly a grey hair in my head.
[_Running his hand through his hair._] Ha! The West Coast--!

DUCHESS.

Is the climate so terrible?

FRAYNE.

Deadly. But the worst of it is, [_with a bow and a sigh_] we have no
European ladies.

[MURIEL--_eyeing the_ DUCHESS--_rises, shrinkingly, and steals away._

FRAYNE.

[_Looking after_ MURIEL.] Quex! ha, there's a lucky dog, now!

DUCHESS.

[_Sweetly._] You are delighted, naturally, at your old friend's
approaching marriage?

FRAYNE.

[_Kissing his finger-tips towards the left._] Miss Eden--!
[_Inquisitively._] And--and _you_, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[_Raising her eyebrows._] I?

FRAYNE.

You also approve his choice?

DUCHESS.

[_Blandly._] Approve? I am scarcely sufficiently intimate with either
party to express approval or disapproval.

FRAYNE.

[_Eyeing her askance._] Pardon. I thought you had known Quex
for--ah--some years.

DUCHESS.

Quite superficially. I should describe him rather as a great friend of
his Grace.

LADY OWBRIDGE _appears on the top of the steps._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Are you here, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[_Turning to her._] Yes.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Coming down the steps._] Oh, I am really very upset!

DUCHESS.

Upset?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

About your maid. The circumstance has only just been reported to me--you
have lost your maid. [_Seeing_ FRAYNE.] Is that Sir Chichester? [FRAYNE
_advances and shakes hands._] I didn't observe you, in the dusk. Have
you seen Henry? I wonder if he is waiting for us in the drawing-room?

FRAYNE.

May I go and hunt for him?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

It would be kind of you.

[FRAYNE _goes up the steps and away._ MRS. EDEN _comes to the stone
bench._ MURIEL _returns slowly, coming from among the trees and
appearing on the further side of the low hedge._

DUCHESS.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Pray don't be in the least concerned for me, dear
Lady Owbridge; the absence of my maid is quite a temporary matter. Poor
Watson's father is unwell and I packed her off to him this afternoon.
She will be back by mid-day to-morrow, she promises me.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

But, dear me! in the meantime my own woman shall wait upon you.

DUCHESS.

I couldn't dream of it.

MRS. EDEN.

Why not my Gilchrist--or let us share her?

DUCHESS.

No, no; the housemaid who assisted me into this gown--

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Chalmers? well, there's Chalmers, certainly. But I fear that Chalmers
has hot hands. Or Denham--no, Denham is suffering from a bad knee. Of
course, there's Bruce! Bruce is painfully near-sighted--but would
Bruce do? Or little Atkins--?

SOPHY.

[_Stepping from behind the bench, and confronting_ LADY OWBRIDGE--_in a
quiet voice._] Or I, my lady?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

You, my dear?

SOPHY.

Why shouldn't _I_ attend upon her Grace to-night and in the morning?
[_With half a courtesy to the_ DUCHESS.] I should dearly like to have
the honour.

[MURIEL _comes forward, staring at_ SOPHY.

MRS. EDEN.

Now, that's very proper and good-natured of you, Sophy.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

But, Miss Fullgarney--

SOPHY.

[_Modestly._] Oh, I never feel like Miss Fullgarney out of my business,
my lady. You see, I was maid for years, and it's second nature to me.
Do let me, my lady--do, your Grace!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Duchess--?

DUCHESS.

[_Hesitatingly._] Oh--oh, by all means. [_To_ SOPHY.] Thank you.

[_The gong sounds in the distance again, as_ QUEX--_now in
evening-dress--and_ FRAYNE _return together, above the hedge._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Here is Quex.

[_The ladies, except_ MURIEL, _join_ FRAYNE _and_ QUEX.

MURIEL.

[_To_ SOPHY.] What are you doing?

SOPHY.

[_Breathlessly._] The housekeeper showed me over the house. I
remember--her maid's room is at the end of a passage leading from the
boudoir!

MURIEL.

Sophy, you must not! you sha'n't!

SOPHY.

Why, isn't it for the best? If I was mistaken over what I heard just
now, I sha'n't see or hear anything wicked to-night; and that will
satisfy both of us--!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Calling._] Muriel--

[MURIEL _joins the group;_ SOPHY _slips away and disappears._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_To the_ DUCHESS.] Shall we go in?

[LADY OWBRIDGE _and the_ DUCHESS, _and_ MRS. EDEN _and_ MURIEL, _ascend
the steps and go towards the house. Instead, of following the ladies,_
QUEX _turns sharply and comes forward with an angry, sullen look upon
his face._

FRAYNE.

[_Looking round for_ QUEX.] Hallo, Harry! [_Coming to_ QUEX.] Aren't
you--?

QUEX.

Hang dinner! I don't want to eat.

FRAYNE.

Anything wrong, old man? anything I--?

QUEX.

[_Shaking himself up._] No, no; nothing--the hot weather. Come along; we
mustn't be late for grace. [_Boisterously._] At any rate, a glass of
champagne--[_slapping_ FRAYNE _on the back_] a glass or two of Felix
Poubelle, hey? Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! ha, ha, ha!

[_As they turn to go, they see_ SOPHY _on the other side of the low
hedge, looking at them steadily._

QUEX.

[_To_ FRAYNE, _quietly._] Wait!

[_They stand still, while_ SOPHY _very demurely walks to the steps,
ascends them, and disappears._

QUEX.

[_In an altered tone._] Chick--you see that hussy?

FRAYNE.

Miss Fullgarney?

QUEX.

I can't make her out. I believe she wants to play some trick on me.

FRAYNE.

Trick?

QUEX.

'Pon my soul, I believe she's prying--spying on me.

FRAYNE.

That nice gal!

QUEX.

Oh, I daresay I'm wrong. But if I found it so, I--I'd wring her neck.

FRAYNE.

[_Wistfully._] It's an alluring neck.

QUEX.

Possibly. But I'd wring it--!

[_They go up the steps together._


END OF THE SECOND ACT.




THE THIRD ACT


_The scene represents two rooms--a bedroom and a boudoir--separated by
an arched opening across which a portiere is hung. The portiere is,
however, drawn aside, and the bedroom, in which is a bed with an
elaborate canopy, is partly revealed. The boudoir is nearest to the
spectator. Above the fireplace, with bare hearth, on the right, is a
broad window running obliquely towards the centre, concealed by heavy
curtains. On the left of the window, facing the audience, is a door
admitting to a long, narrow passage in which a hanging lamp is burning;
and on the left of this door is the arched opening dividing the bedroom
from the boudoir. Another door opens into the boudoir on the opposite
side from a corridor or landing. Beyond this door, against the wall, is
a cabinet, on the top of which is a clock. A chair stands at each end of
this cabinet. On the left of the arched opening--placed obliquely, the
mirror turned from the audience--is a cheval-glass; and on the right is
a sculptured figure or ornamental pillar supporting a lighted lamp.
Before the window stands a large dressing-table. On the table are a pair
of candelabra with lighted candles, a looking-glass, toilet-bottles, and
a hand-mirror. A chair faces the dressing-table. Nearer to the
spectator are a writing-table, with a heap of French novels on it, and
an arm-chair. Opposite stand a circular table, an arm-chair, and a
settee. A silver box containing cigarettes, an ash-tray, a match-stand,
and a lighted spirit-lamp are on this table._

_The rooms are richly furnished and decorated, but in an old-fashioned
and formal manner. Everything is subdued and faded in tone. There are no
pillows upon the chairs, nor on the settee, nor any other signs of ease
and comfort. Keys are in the locks of both the doors._

[_The_ DUCHESS _and_ MRS. EDEN _are seated--the_ DUCHESS _in the
arm-chair,_ MRS. EDEN _upon the settee--smoking cigarettes._ MRS. EDEN
_is wearing a smart dressing-jacket; the_ DUCHESS _is still fully
dressed._ SOPHY, _who has assumed an apron, is engaged in bringing
hair-brushes and some toilet bottles from the bedroom and in arranging
them upon the dressing-table. Her eyes are constantly upon the_ DUCHESS.

MRS. EDEN.

These are awfully pleasant cigarettes. I didn't know you--

DUCHESS.

[_Plaintively._] My doctor insists--for my nerves.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Blowing rings._] I love smoking. Such a bore, because women are rather
dropping it. [_Examining her cigarette._] What _are_ these?

DUCHESS

I forget.

MRS. EDEN.

I see--Argyropulos.

[_There is a knock at the door._ SOPHY _goes to the door and opens it
slightly; a note is handed to her._

SOPHY.

[_Looking at the note._] Oh, thanks. [_Closing the door._] I beg your
pardon, your Grace--it's for me.

[_She returns to the dressing-table, reading the note._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Jestingly._] Ah, Sophy! you must encourage no more sweethearts now,
remember.

SOPHY.

This is from _him_, Mrs. Eden--from Mr. Valma, saying good-night. He's
gone to bed.

MRS. EDEN.

Good gracious! how do _you_ know?

SOPHY.

Mrs. Gregory, the housekeeper, has allowed him to sleep here to-night,
so that we may go back together in the morning.

MRS. EDEN.

Ah, yes.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking off her bracelets._] My jewel-case, Sophy.

[SOPHY _puts the note to her lips, slips it into the bodice of her
dress, and re-enters the bedroom._

MRS. EDEN.

[_To the_ DUCHESS.] By-the-by, what _did_ Valma see in your hand,
Duchess, after dinner? Why wouldn't you tell us?

DUCHESS.

I was too vexed at the moment. [_With downcast eyes._] He professed to
discover that a number of men are in love with me.

MRS. EDEN.

Yes, but what made you angry?

DUCHESS.

Why, _that_.

MRS. EDEN.

That!

DUCHESS.

They were shocking words to listen to, even when spoken by a mere
fortune-teller. And you--why did _you_ not confide to us the result of
Mr. Valma's reading of your palm?

[SOPHY _comes from the bedroom carrying a jewel-case, which she deposits
upon the dressing-table._

MRS. EDEN.

I was in a rage too. Ha! there's only _one_ man in love with _me_, it
appears.

DUCHESS.

[_With a shudder._] One is sufficiently dreadful.

MRS. EDEN.

Horrid! [_Making a_ moue.] It's Jack--my husband!

DUCHESS.

[_Reprovingly._] Hush, dear Mrs. Eden! Sophy--[SOPHY _comes to the_
DUCHESS. _Languidly._] I shall read for half-an-hour before attempting
to sleep. Put me into something loose.

SOPHY.

Yes, your Grace.

[SOPHY _again retires to the bedroom._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Rising._] May I look at your literature?

[MRS. EDEN _goes to the writing-table and turns over the books she finds
there. The_ DUCHESS _glances at the clock, and eyes_ MRS. EDEN _with
impatience._

MRS. EDEN.

"_Le Calvaire d'une vierge_." "_Lune de Miel_." "_Les Aventures de
Madame Plon_." Oh, I've heard of this! this is a little--h'm!--isn't it?

DUCHESS.

I read those things for the sake of their exquisitely polished style;
the subjects escape me.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Seating herself by the writing-table and dipping into_ "_Madame
Plon_."] Ah yes, the style--the style. [_Absorbed._] We haven't much
real literary style in England, have we?

[SOPHY _returns, carrying a pink tea-gown trimmed with green ribbons,
and a richly embroidered Mandarin's robe._

SOPHY.

Will your Grace put on one of these? [_With a curl of the lip._] They're
both very becoming, I should think.

DUCHESS.

[_Smiling sadly._] Becoming! as if that mattered, child!

SOPHY.

Which will your Grace--?

DUCHESS.

[_To herself, closing her eyes._] _Couleur de rose_--[_to_ SOPHY]
er--that pink rag. Take off my collarette.

[SOPHY _lays the tea-gown and the robe over the back of the settee and
proceeds to unfasten the_ DUCHESS'S _pearl collarette._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Startled, by some passage in the book she is reading._] Oh, I _say_!

DUCHESS.

What, dear Mrs. Eden?

MRS. EDEN.

[_Bethinking herself--soberly._] Ah, yes, the style is excellent, isn't
it?

DUCHESS.

[_To_ SOPHY, _while the collarette is in process of removal._] Have you
everything you require for the night, child?

SOPHY.

Yes, thank you, your Grace. Miss Gilchrist, Mrs. Eden's maid, has lent
me a night-gown and a pair of slippers.

DUCHESS.

[_Handing her bracelets to_ SOPHY.] Drop them into the case.

[SOPHY _puts the collarette and bracelets in the jewel-case. The_
DUCHESS, _rising, again looks at the clock and at_ MRS. EDEN. SOPHY
_returns to the_ DUCHESS, _who is now behind the settee._

DUCHESS.

[_To_ SOPHY.] It is very good of you, Sophy, to attend upon me.

SOPHY.

[_Averting her head._] Not at all, your Grace.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking up the Mandarin's robe._] Here is a pretty thing for you.
[_Giving the robe to_ SOPHY.] Wear it to dress your hair in, in the
morning.

SOPHY.

[_Breathing shortly._] Oh, no, your Grace--please--!

DUCHESS.

Nonsense, child; take it.

[SOPHY, _somewhat out of countenance, lays the robe over the back of the
chair._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Looking up_.] Well, you are a lucky girl, Sophy!

SOPHY.

Yes, I know it's very beautiful; [_returning to the_ DUCHESS] but I--I
think I'd rather not--

DUCHESS.

Tsch, tsch! help me. [_The_ DUCHESS _is standing before the
cheval-glass, which conceals her from the audience. With_ SOPHY'S _aid,
she slips out of her dress and puts herself into the tea-gown, while she
talks to_ MRS. EDEN.] Miss Eden is not well to-night, I am afraid. She
didn't come into the drawing-room.

[MRS. EDEN _rises and goes to the settee, upon which she partly kneels
while she chatters to the_ DUCHESS.

MRS. EDEN.

She complained of headache and bolted upstairs. Muriel is such an odd
girl at times.

DUCHESS.

A sweet one.

MRS. EDEN.

Perfectly adorable. Only I wish she wasn't so moody and uncertain.

DUCHESS.

But a headache--[_sympathetically_] dear child!

MRS. EDEN.

An engaged girl ought not to have a headache--no girl ought. It's just
one of those things that makes a man ponder.

DUCHESS.

Ponder?

MRS. EDEN.

Reflect. A man loves to think a girl is like an angel--beautiful pink
and white right through, with no clockwork. The moment she complains of
headache, or toothache, or a chilblain on the heel, the angel game is
off, and she's got to try and hold her own as a simple mortal. And as a
mortal she's not in it with a man. No, it's angel or nothing with us
women. I remember my Mater saying to me when I was engaged to Jack,
"Sybil, now mind! enjoy the very best of health till you have been
married at least ten years; and then be sure you have an excellent
motive for cracking-up." [_The clock tinkles out the half-hour. She
glances at the clock._] Half-past-eleven! the dead of night for this
house! [_Rising._] I'll be off to my cot.

[SOPHY _carries the_ DUCHESS'S _dress into the bedroom._

DUCHESS.

[_Coming to_ MRS. EDEN.] _Must_ you? Good-night.

MRS. EDEN.

So nice of you to allow me this gossip.

DUCHESS.

Delighted.

[_They kiss affectionately._

MRS. EDEN.

We go shopping together to-morrow, do we not?

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes.

MRS. EDEN.

[_With exaggerated regret._] To-morrow! your last day here! misery! [_At
the door, finding she still has "Madame Plon" in her hand._] Oh! do you
happen to be on this one?

DUCHESS.

Not that one.

MRS. EDEN.

I wonder whether you'd lend it to me?

DUCHESS.

Gladly.

MRS. EDEN.

As you say, there is something about these French writers--

DUCHESS.

Style.

MRS. EDEN.

That's it--style. [_Opening the door._] Ah! lights out.

DUCHESS.

Can you see?

MRS. EDEN.

[_Going out._] There's just a glimmer--

[_She disappears._

DUCHESS.

I'll keep the door open till you have turned the corner.

[SOPHY _comes back and stands watching the_ DUCHESS. _The_ DUCHESS
_remains at the open door for a little, while, then kisses her hand to_
MRS. EDEN _and closes the door._

SOPHY.

Shall I brush your Grace's hair now?

DUCHESS.

[_Going to the writing-table and taking up a book._] No. I will do it.
The exertion of brushing my hair, I often find, encourages sleep. I'll
put myself to bed. Run away. Don't let me see or hear anything of you
till the morning. Eight o'clock. [_She reclines upon the settee and
opens her book._ SOPHY, _eyeing her keenly, is about to withdraw._]
Oh--Sophy! [SOPHY _returns._] Do you--believe in Mr. Valma?

SOPHY.

Believe in him, your Grace?

DUCHESS.

Believe that when he reads a woman's hand he has really the power of
divination--the power he professes?

SOPHY.

Oh, yes.

DUCHESS.

[_Looking away._] Then if he tells a woman that a great many men are
deeply in love with her, you--you--?

SOPHY.

I'm sure he knows what he's talking about.

DUCHESS.

[_With a little purr of contentment._] Ah! [_Assuming indifference._] I
heard recently of an instance of his having conjectured such a state of
affairs from the lines of a woman's hand. [_Severely._] I could only
hope that his surmise was an incorrect one.

SOPHY.

[_Her eyes flashing scornfully._] You see, your Grace, if a woman is
pretty, and Valma finds Venus's girdle well marked in her palm; and if
he concludes from other signs that she's vain and light and loose; it
isn't much to suppose that there are a few horrid men licking their lips
at the thought of her.

DUCHESS.

[_Shocked._] My good girl! what curious expressions you make use of!
[_Resuming her reading._] That's all.

[SOPHY _goes to the door and opens it._

SOPHY.

I wish your Grace good-night.

DUCHESS.

[_Raising her head for a moment._] Good-night. You are not taking your
robe.

[SOPHY _looks at the robe and hesitates; in the end she gathers it up
uneasily._

SOPHY.

I--I am very much obliged to your Grace--

DUCHESS.

Yes, you have thanked me enough. Turn out the lamp in that passage.

SOPHY.

Certainly, your Grace.

[SOPHY _disappears, shutting the door after her. The_ DUCHESS _remains
quite still for a moment, then rises promptly, replaces her book,
and--seating herself at the dressing-table--puts her hair in order. This
done, she takes up the hand-mirror and smiles, frowns, and looks
caressingly at herself. Then she lays the hand-mirror aside, blows out
the candles upon the dressing-table, and poses before the cheval-glass.
Ultimately, completely assured as to her appearance, she cautiously
opens the door at which_ SOPHY _has departed, and, going a few steps
along the passage, listens with strained ears. The passage is now in
darkness. Apparently satisfied, the_ DUCHESS _returns, and, closing the
door gently, turns the key in the lock. Her next proceeding is to
attempt to tear one of the ribbons from her tea-gown. Failing in this,
she detaches it with the aid of a pair of scissors, and, opening the
door leading from the corridor, ties the ribbon to the outer
door-handle. Whereupon she closes the door and walks about the room
contentedly. Suddenly she pauses, and, going to the cabinet, produces a
small tray on which are a bottle of champagne and a champagne glass.
Placing the tray on the circular table, she regards the single glass
thoughtfully. Then, as if struck by an idea, she disappears into the
bedroom. After a brief interval, the door opens softly and_ QUEX
_enters, carrying a lighted wax match. Being in, he shuts the door
silently and looks about the room. Hearing the_ DUCHESS _in the
adjoining apartment, he frowns and blows out the match. Coming to the
circular table, he contemplates the preparation for his reception with
distaste; then, flinging the match into the ash-tray, he sits, with a
set, determined look upon his face. After another short pause, the_
DUCHESS _returns, polishing a tumbler with a cambric handkerchief._ QUEX
_rises._

DUCHESS.

[_Under her breath._] Ah! [_He bows stiffly. She places the tumbler on
the tray, tosses the handkerchief aside, and--first motioning him to
stand away from the line of the door--opens the door, removes the ribbon
from the handle, closes and locks it. Then she turns to him with a
long-drawn sigh._] Ah--h--h!

QUEX.

[_Coming down gloomily._] Is it all right?

DUCHESS.

Quite. [_Advancing to him with outstretched hands._] Welcome, Harry! oh,
welcome!

QUEX.

[_Retreating a few steps--firmly._] One moment. I have something to ask
of you, Sidonia. [_Looking round._] You are sure--?

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes. Only don't raise your voice; [_glancing towards the door_] my
maid sleeps in a room at the end of that passage. [_Gracefully seating
herself upon the settee and motioning him to sit beside her._] Sit down.
Oh, the woe of this final meeting! the pathos of it!

QUEX.

[_Bitterly, withdrawing the chair a little further from the table._]
Yes, I agree with you--there is an element of wofulness in this meeting;
it is not altogether without pathos.

DUCHESS.

Not altogether!

QUEX.

[_Sitting, facing her._] But, for yourself, my dear Sidonia--well, I
have the consolation of believing that directly you turn your back upon
Fauncey Court much of the wofulness of your position will evaporate.

DUCHESS.

Harry!

QUEX.

Forgive me--you admit that you delight in colouring even the most
ordinary events of life rather highly. If I may put it more roughly, you
are disposed, my dear Sidonia--at times, perhaps, a little
inopportunely--to burn a good deal of red fire. [_Leaning forward._] At
any rate, I beg an especial favour of you to-night.

DUCHESS.

What--?

QUEX.

[_Distinctly._] No red fire.

DUCHESS.

[_Chilled._] Is this the something you had to ask of me? [_He bows in
assent._] I cannot remember ever having seen you in this mood.

QUEX.

This is our first actual _tete-a-tete_ since my engagement to Miss Eden.

DUCHESS.

Oh, I understand.

QUEX.

And now shall I tell you where the wofulness and the pathos most
conspicuously display themselves on this occasion?

DUCHESS.

If you wish to.

QUEX.

In the confounded treachery of my being here at all.

DUCHESS.

Treachery?

QUEX.

You know I am under a bond of good behaviour to my old aunt and to the
Edens.

DUCHESS.

[_With a slight shrug of the shoulders._] Really?

QUEX.

Yes. [_Clenching his teeth._] And this is how I observe it. After all my
resolutions, this--this is how I observe it.

[_He rises and paces up and down the room._

DUCHESS.

[_Fretfully._] I am bound to remark that your present behaviour appears
quite unimpeachable.

QUEX.

Unimpeachable! here--alone--in your company!

DUCHESS.

[_Covering her eyes with her hand._] Oh, cruel, cruel!

QUEX.

[_Pausing._] Cruel--?

DUCHESS.

[_With heaving bosom._] But there! if you deny me the possession of real
feeling, why should you hesitate to rain blows on me?

QUEX.

[_Softening, coming to her._] My dear Sidonia, I don't--I don't mean
to--

DUCHESS.

[_Rising, and grasping his hands._] Oh, Harry!

QUEX.

Tsch! please! [_He releases himself and she sinks back upon the settee,
her eyes closed. He regards her uncomfortably for a moment; then, with
some hesitation, he produces from his coat-tail pocket a small box
covered with a pretty brocade, with which he toys uneasily._] You
expressed a wish to leave here on Friday with a sensation of despair at
your heart, Sidonia. If your feeling about our parting is really a deep
one, heaven knows I have no desire to make it more acute--

DUCHESS.

[_Partly opening her eyes._] What is in that box, Harry?

QUEX.

That is just what I was about to--to--[_Lifting the lid and closing
it._] These are the little souvenirs which have passed from you to me at
odd times.

DUCHESS.

[_With reviving interest._] Ah, yes.

QUEX.

I have had no other opportunity--[_Looking about him awkwardly for a
place to deposit the box._] Will you--? shall I--? what the devil's to
become of 'em?

DUCHESS.

[_Sitting upright and passing her hand over her back hair._] Were there
a fire, we could crouch over it and watch the flames consume them one by
one.

QUEX.

But there isn't a fire.

DUCHESS.

[_Rising, and taking the box from him._] Let us examine them.

QUEX.

No, no, no.

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes. [_Opening the box and gazing into it._] Ah, poor little
objects! dead, yet animate; silent, yet, oh, how eloquent! Don't go
away--[_She overturns the contents of the box on to the table. They
stand opposite each other, looking down upon the litter. She picks up a
ring._] A ring--[_thoughtfully_] turquoise and pearl. [_Recollecting._]
Stockholm! You remember--that night you and I sat watching the lights of
the cafe on the Norrbro--!

QUEX.

[_Hastily._] Yes, yes; you've recalled it already to-day.

DUCHESS.

[_Picking up a scarf-pin._] A scarf-pin. Copenhagen! Ah, that pretty
state-room of mine on the _Irene_!

QUEX.

Yes, yes, charming.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking up a locket._] A locket--my name in brilliants. Genoa! Look, it
still contains my hair.

QUEX.

[_Nodding._] H'm, um.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking up a white shoe._] My shoe. Where--?

QUEX.

[_Shaking his head._] I don't--

DUCHESS.

Mentone!

QUEX.

Of course--Mentone.

DUCHESS.

[_Discovering some object in the shoe._] What is this? [_Producing a
garter of pale-blue silk, with a diamond buckle._] A--a--where--? ah,
yes. [_Replacing the things in the box._] Oh, the poor little objects!
dead, yet animate; silent, yet, oh, how eloquent!

[_She passes him and slips the box into the drawer of the writing-table.
The clock strikes a quarter to twelve._

QUEX.

[_Glancing at the clock._] By Jove, it's late! I--I'll leave you now,
Sidonia.

DUCHESS.

[_Turning._] No, no--not yet, Harry. [_Coming to the table and taking up
the box of cigarettes._] Why, you forget--[_offering him the box_]
Argyropulos!

QUEX.

[_Accepting a cigarette reluctantly._] Thanks. [_Again looking at the
clock._] Well--three minutes.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking a cigarette, replacing the box, and holding the spirit lamp
while he lights his cigarette from it._] You were not always so
impatient. [_In lighting his cigarette, the flame of the lamp is blown
out._] Ah! [_After replacing the lamp, she lights her cigarette from
his, gazing into his eyes._] Argyropulos. [_Dreamily._] Once
more--Argyropulos.

QUEX.

Yes, yes--capital tobacco.

[_He gets away from her._

DUCHESS.

And look! you see, Harry?

QUEX.

[_Turning._] Eh?

DUCHESS.

[_Pointing to the bottle of champagne._] "Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or"!
[_Taking up the scissors which she has left upon the table._] The wire
is already severed.

[_She commences to cut the string. He comes to her._

QUEX.

[_Taking the scissors from her._] Oh, permit me.

[_Always intent upon avoiding her, he moves away, the bottle in his
hand, cutting the string._

DUCHESS.

[_Following him._] Is it likely to make a loud report?

QUEX.

Hardly.

DUCHESS.

[_Frowning censoriously._] One doesn't want a sound of that sort to ring
through the corridors. [_Looking about her impatiently._] These formal,
frigid rooms!

[_She runs lightly into the bedroom, snatches a pillow from the bed, and
returns to him._

QUEX.

[_His hand upon the cork._] What is that for?

DUCHESS.

[_Enveloping his hand and the bottle in the pillow--calmly._] It is
wiser to muffle it.

[_He pauses, looking at her fixedly._

QUEX.

[_In a low, grave voice._] Dolly--

DUCHESS.

Dolly! [_Closing her eyes._] You give me my pet name again!

QUEX.

Ah, Dolly, if only there wasn't quite so much in one's life--to muffle!
[_He pulls the cork. She tosses the pillow on to the settee, a little
irritably._] May I--?

[_She inclines her head. He pours wine into the glasses; she takes the
champagne glass, he the tumbler._

DUCHESS.

[_Sentimentally._] Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! [_Looking at him over the
brim of her glass._] _Eh bien! au joyeux passe!_

QUEX.

_Non, non--a un avenir meilleur!_

DUCHESS.

_Que vous etes prosaique! soit!_ [_They drink. She sits, with a sigh of
dissatisfaction._] Ah!

QUEX.

[_Leaning against the table, drinking his wine._] Wonderful wine--really
exceptional. [_Struck by a thought, turning to her._] Forgive me--you
must have found some difficulty in introducing Monsieur Felix Poubelle
into this hallowed apartment.

DUCHESS.

No. [_Sipping her wine._] My maid thinks it is by my doctor's orders.

QUEX.

Your maid, yes--[_sipping his wine; then sitting upon the settee, glass
in hand_] but my poor aunt must be highly scandalised.

DUCHESS.

[_Her glass at her lips._] Dear Lady Owbridge will not know. I told the
girl to coax it out of the butler, as if it were for herself. These
women have a way of doing such things.

QUEX.

[_Laughing rather sadly._] Ha, ha, ha! who is beyond temptation? Not
even old Bristow--sixty if he's a day.

DUCHESS.

[_Shrugging her shoulders._] Sixty or sixteen--when a girl is
fascinating--

QUEX.

Fascinating! your woman, Watson!

DUCHESS.

No, no--Watson has left me for a few hours. I am speaking of Sophy.

[_There is a brief silence._ QUEX, _surprised in the act of drinking,
lowers his glass slowly._

QUEX.

[_In a queer voice._] Sophy?

DUCHESS.

Miss Fullgarney, the manicurist. She was so good as to offer to take
Watson's place for to-night.

QUEX.

[_Looking steadily before him._] Oh?

[_There is another pause. The_ DUCHESS _puts down her glass and, with
her foot, pushes the footstool towards_ QUEX.

DUCHESS.

[_Sliding from her chair on to the footstool._] Oh, Harry, the
bitterness of this final meeting! the dull agony of it!

[_He gets rid of his tumbler and touches her arm._

QUEX.

[_Quietly._] Duchess--

DUCHESS.

[_Surprised._] Eh?

QUEX.

I am sorry to alarm you, but this girl--Miss Eden's foster-sister--

DUCHESS.

What about her?

QUEX.

She's a cat.

DUCHESS.

Cat!

QUEX.

[_Gathering his ideas as he proceeds._] A common hussy, not above
playing tricks--spying--

DUCHESS.

Spying!

QUEX.

I caught her behind the hedge this evening, in the Italian garden, after
you and I had been talking together.

DUCHESS.

Behind the hedge!

QUEX.

She had previously done her best to make an ass of me, while you were
dressing for dinner--! [_Looking towards the passage-door._] Where do
you say her room is?

DUCHESS.

At the end of that passage. [_They rise together, with very little
movement._] Oh, but she is in bed, and asleep!

QUEX.

_Is_ she?

DUCHESS.

Harry!

QUEX.

Wait--! [_He goes to the door, and examines the key-hole. Then he turns
to the_ DUCHESS _and beckons to her. She joins him. He says, in a
whisper, pointing to the key-hole._] Do you notice--?

DUCHESS.

What?

QUEX.

The key is in the lock horizontally.

DUCHESS.

She may have been peeping at us? [_He nods. She is sick at the
thought._] How inexcusably careless of me!

QUEX.

[_At her elbow._] Listen. I'll keep out of sight. Open the door boldly
and walk along the passage. See if there is any sign of movement--

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes. [_Steadying herself._] Perhaps we are disturbing ourselves
unnecessarily.

QUEX.

[_Nodding reassuringly._] Perhaps so.

[_He draws back into the bedroom, but so that he can put his head out at
the opening, and watch the_ DUCHESS'S _proceedings. She goes to the door
and lays her hand upon the key._

DUCHESS.

[_Faltering._] Oh! oh, great heavens!

QUEX.

[_Encouragingly._] It's all right--it's all right. Very likely I am
mistaken. Now!

[_The_ DUCHESS _opens the door suddenly, and_ SOPHY, _who is kneeling at
the key-hole, lurches forward._

DUCHESS.

Ah!

[SOPHY, _enveloped in the Mandarin's robe, gathers herself up and,
without a word, flies away along the passage. The_ DUCHESS _shuts the
door and walks unsteadily to the settee._ QUEX _comes down, his mouth
set hard._

QUEX.

I was sure of it.

DUCHESS.

[_Aghast._] What will she do? will she tell?

QUEX.

Yes--she'll tell.

DUCHESS.

Why do you speak so positively?

QUEX.

She is in Miss Eden's confidence--the trull. And she has always shown
her teeth at me, now I remember. [_Drawing a deep breath._] Oh, yes, I
see--Miss Fullgarney has meant mischief throughout.

DUCHESS.

[_Sinking upon the settee._] Oh!

QUEX.

[_Quietly._] Well--_I'm done_.

DUCHESS.

Oh, my reputation!

QUEX.

I'm--done.

DUCHESS.

My reputation! I have never ceased to guard that, as you know.

QUEX.

I've lost her.

DUCHESS.

My reputation!

QUEX.

Of course, I deserve it. But--

[_He sits, his head bowed._

DUCHESS.

[_Looking up._] To think--to think that I allowed this plausible
creature to thrust herself upon me! [_He raises his head, glaring
fiercely. She beats the pillow._] Oh! oh! my reputation in the hands of
this low creature!

QUEX.

Ah--! [_With a half-smothered cry he goes to the door and pulls it open.
The_ DUCHESS _runs after him and seizes his arm_.] I said I'd wring her
damned neck--I told Frayne so.

DUCHESS.

[_Pushing him away from the door._] Don't! don't! violence will not help
us. [_She closes the door; he stands clutching the chair by the
writing-table. The clock strikes twelve._] Midnight. [_Leaning upon a
chair._] At any rate, you had better go now.

QUEX.

[_Turning to her._] I beg your pardon; I regret having lost control of
myself.

DUCHESS.

[_Miserably._] It has been a wretchedly disappointing meeting.

QUEX.

[_Heavily._] Let us see each other in the morning. [_She nods._] Be
walking in the grounds by nine.

DUCHESS.

Yes. [_Rallying._] After all, Harry, there may be nothing behind this
woman's behaviour. It may have been only the vulgarest curiosity on her
part.

QUEX.

[_Incredulously._] Ha! However, in that case--

DUCHESS.

Money.

QUEX.

Money.

DUCHESS.

I ought to sound her directly she presents herself at my bedside, ought
I not?

QUEX.

Earlier--before she has had time to get about the house. Stand at
nothing. If she's to be bought, she shall have whatever she demands--any
sum!

DUCHESS.

How liberal of you!

[QUEX _walks towards the door, then turns to her._

QUEX.

One thing I hope I need hardly say, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

What--?

QUEX.

[_With dignity._] Worst come to the worst, I shall defend you by every
means in my power. _I'm_ done, I feel sure; [_drawing himself up_] but,
of course, I shall lie for you like the devil.

DUCHESS.

[_Plaintively._] Thanks. And I have dragged you into it all.

QUEX.

Tsch! [_Bowing stiffly._] Good-night.

DUCHESS.

Good-night. [_She goes to the table and prepares to remove the tray.
Having turned the key of the door,_ QUEX _pauses. She says fretfully._]
Oh, why don't you go, Harry?

QUEX.

[_Facing her sharply, a new light in his eyes._] No! _you_ go.

DUCHESS.

[_In astonishment._] I!

QUEX.

[_Returning to her excitedly._] I tell you I can't wait through a night
of suspense! Quick! [_Facing the room._] Leave me to deal with her here,
at once.

DUCHESS.

You!

QUEX.

[_Snapping his fingers._] By Jove, yes!

DUCHESS.

What are you going to do?

QUEX.

Give her a fair chance, and then spoil her tale against you, in any
event.

DUCHESS.

How?

QUEX.

Trust to me. [_Impatiently._] Go, Duchess.

DUCHESS.

But where? where can I--?

QUEX.

Run away to Mrs. Jack--ask her to let you share her room to-night.
[_Pointing to the writing-table._] Ah--! scribble a message--

[_The_ DUCHESS _seats herself at the writing-table and writes agitatedly
at his dictation._

QUEX.

[_Dictating._] "The Duchess of Strood has been seized with a dreadful
fit of nerves and has gone to Mrs. Eden's room. Come to her there at
eight." Lay that upon the bed. [_Indicating the bedroom._] Is there a
door in there?

DUCHESS.

[_Rising breathlessly._] Yes.

QUEX.

Locked?

DUCHESS.

Yes.

QUEX.

The key. [_Imperatively._] Give me the key. [_She runs into the bedroom
and, having laid the written message upon the bed, disappears for a
moment. He refills his tumbler and drinks, chuckling sardonically as he
does so._] Ha, ha, ha! [_She returns with the key, which he pockets._]
The bell that rings in your maid's room--? [_She points to the bell-rope
hanging beside the passage-door._] Good. [_Motioning to her to go_.]
Now--[_She is going towards the other door; he detains her._] Hist!
[_Thoughtfully._] If anything unusual should occur, remember that we
were simply discussing books and pictures in the Italian garden before
dinner.

DUCHESS.

[_Intently._] Books and pictures--of course. [_In an outburst._] Oh, you
are certain you can save my reputation?

QUEX.

[_Politely._] _Yours_ at least, my dear Duchess. Sleep well.

[_She is about to open the door when a thought strikes her and she again
runs up to the bed._

DUCHESS.

Ah--!

QUEX.

Hey?

[_She returns, carrying her night-dress case--a thing of white satin
with a monogram and coronet embroidered upon it. She holds it up to him
in explanation; he nods, and she lets herself out. He immediately locks
the door at which she has departed and slips the key into his waistcoat
pocket. This done, he pulls the bell-rope communicating with the maid's
room and takes up a position against the wall so that the opening of the
passage door conceals him from the view of the person entering. After a
pause the door is opened and_ SOPHY _appears. The frills of her
night-dress peep out from under the Mandarin's robe, and she is wearing
a pair of scarlet cloth slippers; altogether she presents an odd,
fantastic figure. She pauses in the doorway hesitatingly, then steadies
herself and, with a defiant air, stalks into the bedroom. Directly she
has moved away,_ QUEX _softly closes the door, locks it, and pockets the
key. Meanwhile_ SOPHY, _looking about the bedroom for the_ DUCHESS,
_discovers the paper upon the bed. She picks it up, reads it and
replaces it, and, coming back into the boudoir, encounters_ QUEX.

SOPHY.

Oh!

QUEX.

[_With a careless nod._] Ah?

SOPHY.

[_Recovering herself, and speaking with a contemptuous smile._] So her
Grace has packed herself off to Mrs. Eden's room. [_Firmly._] Who rang
for me, please?

QUEX.

_I_ rang.

SOPHY.

You? what for?

QUEX.

Oh, you and I are going to have a cosy little chat together.

SOPHY.

[_Haughtily._] I don't understand you.

QUEX.

We'll understand one another well enough, in a minute.

[_He lights another cigarette and seats himself upon the settee. She
moves to the back of a chair, eyeing him distrustfully._

QUEX.

Now then! You've been at the key-hole, have you?

SOPHY.

[_Slightly embarrassed._] Y--yes.

QUEX.

[_Sharply._] Eh?

SOPHY.

[_Defiantly._] Yes; you know I have.

QUEX.

Ah. And I should like to know a little more, while we are upon the
delicate subject of spying. When I found you behind the cypress-hedge
this evening before dinner--

SOPHY.

Well?

QUEX.

You had just at that moment returned to the Italian garden, you said.

SOPHY.

Yes, so I said.

QUEX.

As a matter of fact, you had been there some time, I presume?

SOPHY.

A minute or two.

QUEX.

Heard anything?

SOPHY.

[_Laughing maliciously._] Ha, ha, ha! I heard her Grace say,
"to-night"--[_faintly mimicking the_ DUCHESS] "to-night!" [_With a curl
of the lip._] That was enough for me.

QUEX.

Quite so. You told a deliberate lie, then, when I questioned you?

SOPHY.

Yes.

QUEX.

Earlier in the evening, that manicure game of yours--nothing but a
damned cunning trick, eh?

SOPHY.

I beg you won't use such language.

QUEX.

A trick, eh?

SOPHY.

Certainly.

QUEX.

You wanted--what did you want?

SOPHY.

[_Disdainfully._] A kiss, or a squeeze of the waist--anything of that
sort would have done.

QUEX.

Oh, would it? You didn't get what you wanted, though.

SOPHY.

No; I suppose you were frightened.

QUEX.

[_Angrily._] What!

SOPHY.

Too many people about for you.

QUEX.

[_Stifling his annoyance._] Tsch! If I had--[_with a wave of the hand_]
what course would you have taken, pray?

SOPHY.

[_With an air of great propriety._] Complained at once to Lady Owbridge.

QUEX.

As it is--what do you think of doing now?

SOPHY.

About you and her Grace?

QUEX.

[_Scowling._] Yes.

SOPHY.

Oh, tell the ladies in the morning, first thing.

QUEX.

[_Again putting a check upon himself._] Ha, ha! Why do you behave in
this contemptible way?

SOPHY.

It isn't contemptible.

QUEX.

Isn't it?

SOPHY.

Not under the circumstances.

QUEX.

What circumstances?

SOPHY.

[_Hotly._] A wicked man like you engaged to a sweet girl like Miss
Muriel!

QUEX.

I see. [_Politely._] You don't approve of the engagement?

SOPHY.

Should think not!

QUEX.

Always done your best to poison Miss Eden's mind against me, I expect?

SOPHY.

Always let her know my opinion of you. And I was right!

QUEX.

Right?

SOPHY.

This very day, poor thing, she was saying how proud she is of you
because you've turned over a new leaf for her sake; and I told her what
_your_ promises are worth. Yes, I was right! And now I can prove it!

[_He rises; she hastily places herself on the other side of the chair._

QUEX.

Look here! [_Leaning against the table, the chair being between him and_
SOPHY.] What will you take to hold your tongue?

SOPHY.

Nothing.

QUEX.

Oh, but wait. This isn't a matter of a handful of sovereigns. I'll give
you a couple of thousand pounds to keep quiet about this.

SOPHY.

No, thank you, my lord.

QUEX.

Four thousand.

SOPHY.

[_Shaking her head._] No.

QUEX.

Five.

SOPHY.

No.

QUEX.

How much?

SOPHY.

Not twenty thousand. I'm extremely comfortably off, my lord, but if I
wasn't I wouldn't accept a penny of your money. All I wish is to save
Miss Muriel from marrying a--a gentleman who isn't fit for her. And
that's what I intend doing.

[_They stand looking at each other for a moment, silently; then he walks
away, thoughtfully._

QUEX.

[_In an altered tone._] Come here.

SOPHY.

[_With an eye on the door._] Certainly not.

QUEX.

As you please. Miss Fullgarney--

SOPHY.

I hear you.

QUEX.

I should like to settle this business with you pleasantly--if possible.
Allow me to say this. I don't think I am quite such an atrocious person
as you appear to believe; in fact I can assure you I am not.

SOPHY.

[_Gathering her robe about her and advancing a few steps._] You must
excuse me, my lord, but--[_glancing round the room_] you evidently
forget where you are.

QUEX.

No, I don't; but I tell you--I tell you sincerely--that my visit to her
Grace to-night was an innocent one.

SOPHY.

[_Turning her head away, in great disdain._] Really!

QUEX.

Really. You won't accept money?

SOPHY.

No, indeed, I will not.

QUEX.

Very well. Ha! it's an odd attitude for a man like myself to adopt
towards--[_indicating_ SOPHY _by a motion of the hand._] But I make an
appeal to you.

SOPHY.

[_Elevating her eyebrows._] Appeal?

QUEX.

[_With simple feeling and dignity._] I love Miss Eden. I would be a good
husband to that young lady. Let me off.

SOPHY.

Let you off?

QUEX.

Don't tell on me. Don't try to rob me of Miss Eden. Let me off.

SOPHY.

I'm sorry to say I can't, my lord.

QUEX

You won't?

SOPHY.

I won't. [_With a slight inclination of the head_ QUEX _turns away and
stands leaning against the settee with his back towards_ SOPHY. _The
clock strikes the quarter-of-an-hour. There is a short silence._] If
your lordship has quite done with me--? [_He makes no response. She
tosses her head._] I wish you good-night, my lord. [_She goes to the
passage-door and turns the handle._] It's locked. This door's locked.
[_Looking at him._] The door's locked. [_Rattling at the door-handle._]
Where's the key? [_Searching about on the floor near the door._] Where's
the--? [_Coming forward a step or two._] Has your lordship got the key
of this door? [_Still obtaining no answer, she stands staring at him for
a moment; then she goes quickly to the other door and tries the handle.
As she does so,_ QUEX _turns sharply and, leaning upon the back of the
settee, watches her. After shaking the door-handle vigorously, she
wheels round and faces him, indignantly._] What's the meaning of this?

QUEX.

[_Grimly._] Ah!

SOPHY.

Oh--! [_She sweeps round to avoid him, and then runs into the bedroom.
When she has gone he seats himself in the chair by the writing-table in
a lazy attitude, his legs stretched out, his hands in his pockets. After
a moment or two she returns breathlessly._] I'm locked in!

QUEX.

Yes.

SOPHY.

You have locked me in!

QUEX.

Yes.

SOPHY.

How dare you!

QUEX.

Why, you didn't think you were going to have it _all_ your own way, did
you, Sophy?

SOPHY.

I'll thank you to be less familiar. Let me out.

QUEX.

Not I.

SOPHY.

You let me out directly.

QUEX.

[_Pointing a finger at her._] You'll gain nothing by raging, my good
girl. Ha! now you appreciate the curiously awkward position in which
you have placed yourself.

SOPHY.

I've placed myself in no--

QUEX.

Oh, come, come! Taking me at my blackest, I'm not quite the kind of man
that a young woman who prides herself upon her respectability desires to
be mixed up with in this fashion.

SOPHY.

Mixed up with!

QUEX.

Well--[_stretching out his arms_] here we are, you know.

SOPHY.

Here we are!

QUEX.

You and I, dear Sophy. [_Putting his leg over the arm of his chair._]
Now just sit down--

SOPHY.

I sha'n't.

QUEX.

While I picture to you what will happen in the morning.

SOPHY.

In the morning?

QUEX.

In a few hours' time. In the first place, you will be called in your
room. You won't be there.

SOPHY.

Won't I!

QUEX.

No. You won't be there. A little later my man will come to _my_ room. I
sha'n't be there. At about the same hour, her Grace will require your
attendance. Where will _you_ be? She will then, naturally, desire to
return to her own apartments. You are intelligent enough, I fancy, to
imagine the rest. [_After a brief pause, she breaks into a peal of soft,
derisive laughter._] I am deeply flattered by your enjoyment of the
prospect.

SOPHY.

Ha, ha, ha! why, you must take me for a fool!

QUEX.

Why?

SOPHY.

Why, can't you see that our being found together like this, here or
anywhere, would do for _you_ as well as for me?

QUEX.

[_Rising._] Of course I see it. [_Advancing to her._] But, my dear
Sophy, _I_ am already done for. _You_ provide for that. And so, if I
have to part with my last shred of character, I will lose it in
association with a woman of your class rather than with a lady whom I,
with the rest of the world, hold in the highest esteem.

SOPHY.

[_After a pause._] Ho! oh, indeed?

QUEX.

Yes. Yes, indeed.

SOPHY.

[_With a shade less confidence._] Ha, ha! if your lordship thinks to
frighten me, you've got hold of the wrong customer. Ha, ha, ha! two or
three things you haven't reckoned for, I can assure you. Here's one--I
told Miss Muriel exactly what I heard, between you and your Duchess, in
the garden this evening.

QUEX.

[_Grinding his teeth._] You did! [_Involuntarily making a threatening
movement towards her._] You did, you--!

SOPHY.

[_Cowering over the settee._] Oh!

QUEX.

[_Recovering himself._] Oh, you did, did you?

SOPHY.

[_Facing him defiantly._] Yes, I did.

QUEX.

[_Coolly._] Well? and what then? You listen to a conversation carried on
in an open spot, from which your mischievous ears manage to detach the
phrase "to-night." My explanation, if I am called upon to make one, will
be absurdly simple.

SOPHY.

[_Derisively._] Ha, ha! will it! ha, ha, ha! I daresay!

QUEX.

Yes. You see, I promised her Grace that I would send a book to her room
to-night--_to-night_. My man had gone to bed; I brought it myself,
intending to hand it to Mrs. Watson, her maid. In the meantime, the
Duchess had joined Mrs. Eden and I found _you_ here.

SOPHY.

You couldn't tell such an abominable lie!

QUEX.

[_Imperturbably._] I found _you_ here. And then--what is the obvious
sequel to the story? [_Shrugging his shoulders._] I'm a wicked man,
Sophy, and you're an undeniably pretty girl--and the devil dared me.

SOPHY.

Oh--!

QUEX.

[_Taking up the bottle of champagne._] And an excellent banquet you had
chanced to provide for the occasion. [_Reading the label._] "Felix
Poubelle, Carte d'Or." It will appear, I am afraid, that you had been
preparing for the entertainment of some amorous footman.

SOPHY.

[_Snapping her fingers at him._] Puh! bah! Oh, the whole house shall
know that that is your Duchess's champagne.

QUEX.

Excuse me--Mr. Brewster, the butler, will disprove that tale. You
wheedled this out of him on your own account, remember.

SOPHY.

[_Disconcerted._] Oh--ah, yes--but--

QUEX.

For yourself, my dear Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_Falteringly._] Yes, but--but she made me do it.

QUEX.

She made you do it! [_Replacing the bottle, sternly._] And who, pray,
will accept your word, upon this or any other point, against that of a
lady of the position of the Duchess of Strood?

[_He walks away from her and examines the books upon the writing-table.
She sits on the settee, a blank expression upon her face._

SOPHY.

[_After a little consideration, wiping her brow with the back of her
hand._] At any rate, my darling--Miss Muriel--would quickly see through
a horrid trick of this sort.

QUEX.

I bet you a dozen boxes of gloves to a case of your manicure instruments
that she doesn't.

SOPHY.

I said to her to-day, at my place, that I was certain, if I could meet
you alone in some quiet spot I could get a kiss out of you.

QUEX.

[_Under his breath, glaring at her._] You--! [_Coolly._] Oh, now I
understand. Yes, my dear, but Miss Eden is scarcely likely to believe
that a modest girl would carry her devotion to this extent. Good
heavens! why, your attire--! [_She pulls her robe about her sharply._]
And a woman who compromises herself, recollect, is never measured by her
own character, always by her companion's.

[_She starts to her feet and paces the room, uttering cries of anger and
indignation. He continues to interest himself in the books._

SOPHY.

Oh! no, no! my darling wouldn't think it of me! when I've abused you so
continually! she surely couldn't! oh! oh! [_With flashing eyes._] Now,
look here, my lord! you don't really imagine that I'm going to stick in
this room with you patiently all through the night, do you?

QUEX.

How do you propose to avoid it?

SOPHY.

[_Pointing to the passage-door._] As true as I'm alive, if you don't
unlock that door, I--I--I'll scream the place down!

QUEX.

Why scream? [_Pointing to the bell-rope which hangs beside the door._]
There's the bell. I daresay a servant or two is still up and about.
You'd rouse the house quicker in that way.

SOPHY.

Much obliged to you for the hint. I will--I will--[_She goes to the
bell-rope and grasps it; then she looks round and sees him calmly
turning the leaves of a book he has selected. She stares at him, with
sudden misgiving._] Ha, now we shall see how much your grand scheme
amounts to!

QUEX.

We shall. Ring the bell.

SOPHY.

[_Blankly._] What do you mean?

QUEX.

Pooh, my dear! ring, ring, ring! or yell! You won't be the first
semi-circumspect young person who has got herself into a scrape and then
endeavoured to save herself by raising a hullabaloo.

[_She slowly takes her hand from the bell-rope and moves a step or two
towards him._

SOPHY.

Oh, that's what you'd try to make out, is it? [_He raises his eyes from
his book and gives her a significant look. Leaning upon the arm of the
settee, she says faintly._] You--you--!

QUEX.

Yes, I tell you again, my dear, you have got yourself into a shocking
mess. You've got _me_ into a mess, and you've got yourself in a mess.

SOPHY.

[_Pulling herself up and advancing to him till she faces him._] You--you
are an awful blackguard, my lord.

QUEX.

Thank you, my dear. But you're not far wrong--I was a blackguard till I
met Miss Eden; and now, losing Miss Eden, perhaps I'm going to be a
bigger blackguard than before. At the same time, you know, there's not
much to choose between us; for you're a low spy, an impudent, bare-faced
liar, a common kitchen-cat who wriggles into the best rooms, gets
herself fondled, and then spits. [_Passing her and throwing himself,
full-length, upon the settee and settling himself to read._] Therefore
I've no compunction in making you pay your share of this score, my dear
Sophy--none whatever.

[_She walks feebly to the passage-door and stands rattling the handle in
an uncertain way. At last she breaks down and cries a little._

SOPHY.

Oh! oh! oh! let me go, my lord. [_He makes no response._] Do let me
go--please! will you? [_Approaching him and wiping her eyes upon the
sleeve of her night-dress._] I hope your lordship will kindly let me go.

QUEX.

[_Shortly._] No.

SOPHY.

[_Steadying herself._] I don't want to rouse the house at this time o'
night if I can help it--

QUEX.

Don't you?

SOPHY.

Though I am certain I can make my story good anyway. But I'd rather your
lordship let me out without the bother--[_Piteously._] Do! [_He turns a
leaf of his book. She speaks defiantly._] Very well! very well! here I
sit then! [_Seating herself._] We'll see who tires first, you or I! you
or I! [_Again snapping her fingers at him._] Bah! you horror!
you--horror!

QUEX.

[_Raising himself on his elbow._] Will you have this sofa? [_She gives
him a fierce look._] A glass of your wine?

[_She rises, with a stamp of the foot, and once more paces the room. He
sips his wine and re-settles himself. She goes distractedly from one
object to another, now leaning upon a chair, then against the pillar of
the cheval-glass. Ultimately she comes to the bell-rope and fingers it
again irresolutely._

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] My lord--! [_He remains silent. She releases the
bell-rope._] Oh--h--h! [_She pauses by the settee, looking down upon him
as though she would strike him; then she walks away, and, seating
herself in the chair by the bedside, drops her head upon the bed. The
clock tinkles the half-hour. There is a short silence. Suddenly she
rises, uttering a sharp cry, with her hand to her heart._] Oh!
[_panting_] oh! oh!

QUEX.

[_Looking at her._] What now?

SOPHY.

Valma!

QUEX.

Valma?

SOPHY.

Mr. Valma! oh, you know he is in the house!

QUEX.

He! what's he doing here?

SOPHY.

The housekeeper gave him permission to sleep here. You know! [_Stamping
her foot._] Don't you know?

QUEX.

[_Sitting up, alertly._] Ho! my jealous friend, the palmist. _He_ is on
the premises, hey?

SOPHY.

[_Distractedly._] Let me out! oh, yes, he _is_ jealous of me; he _is_
jealous of me, and we've had a few words about you as it is--

QUEX.

Ah!

SOPHY.

Oh, this would ruin me with Valma! oh, if your lordship hasn't any
feeling for me, don't let Valma think that I'm a--that I'm--! [_Going
down on her knees before him._] Oh, I won't tell on you! I promise I
won't, if you'll only let me go! I will hold my tongue about you and the
Duchess! I take my solemn oath I'll hold my tongue!

QUEX.

[_Rising._] Ha! [_Calmly._] No, my dear Sophy, I wasn't aware that your
_fiance_ is in the house. So the situation comes home to you a little
more poignantly now, does it?

SOPHY.

[_Rising and going to the passage-door._] Unlock the door! where's the
key?

QUEX.

Wait, wait, wait! And you're going to keep your mouth shut after all,
are you?

SOPHY.

[_Rattling the door-handle._] Yes, yes, Unlock it!

QUEX.

Don't be in such a hurry.

SOPHY.

I give you my sacred word--

QUEX.

[_Thoughtfully._] Tsch, tsch, tsch! [_Sharply, with a snap of the
fingers._] Yes--by Jove--! [_Pointing to the chair by the
writing-table._] Sit down. [_Imperatively._] Sit down. [_She sits,
wonderingly. He goes to the table, selects a plain sheet of paper and
lays it before her. Then he hands her a pen._] Write as I tell you.

SOPHY.

[_Tremblingly._] What?

QUEX.

[_Pointing to the ink._] Ink. [_Dictating._] "My lord." [_She writes; he
walks about as he dictates._] "My lord. I am truly obliged to you--"

SOPHY

Yes.

QUEX.

"For your great liberality--"

SOPHY.

[_Turning._] Eh?

QUEX.

[_Sternly._] Go on. [_She writes._] "For your great liberality, and in
once more availing myself of it I quite understand--"

SOPHY.

[_Weakly._] Oh! [_After writing._] Yes.

QUEX.

"I quite understand that our friendship comes to an end." [_She rises
and faces him._] Go on.

SOPHY.

Our friendship!

QUEX.

Yes.

SOPHY.

Our--_friendship_!

QUEX.

Yes.

SOPHY.

I won't.

QUEX.

Very well.

SOPHY.

How dare you try to make me write such a thing! [_He turns from her and,
book in hand, resumes his recumbent position on the sofa. She approaches
him, falteringly._] What would you do with that, if I did write it?

QUEX.

Simply hold it in my possession, as security for your silence, until
after my marriage with Miss Eden; then return it to you.

SOPHY.

Oh, won't your lordship trust me?

QUEX.

[_Contemptuously._] Trust you! [_After a pause, she returns to the
writing-table and takes up her pen again._] Where were we?

SOPHY.

[_Feebly._] "I quite understand--"

QUEX.

"That our friendship comes to an end." [_She writes. He rises and looks
over her shoulder._] "While thanking you again for past and present
favours--"

SOPHY.

[_Groaning as she writes._] Oh! oh!

QUEX.

"I undertake not to approach or annoy you in the future--"

SOPHY.

Oh!

QUEX.

"Upon any pretext whatsoever. Yours respectfully--" [_After watching the
completion of the letter._] Date it vaguely--[_with a wave of the
hand_] "Monday afternoon." Blot it. [_Moving away._] That's right.
[_She rises, reading the letter with staring eyes. Then she comes to him
and yields the letter, and he folds it neatly and puts it into his
breast-pocket._] Thank you. I think I need detain you no longer.

SOPHY.

[_With a gasp._] Ah! stop a bit! no, I won't!

QUEX.

What's the matter with you?

SOPHY.

[_Wildly._] Why, it's like selling Muriel! Just to get myself out of
this, I'm simply handing her over to you! I won't do it! I won't! [_She
rushes to the bell-rope and tugs at it again and again._] She sha'n't
marry you! she sha'n't! I've said she sha'n't, and she sha'n't!
[_Leaving the bell-rope and facing him fiercely._] Oh, let your precious
Duchess go scot-free! After all, what does it matter who the woman is
you've been sporting with, so that Miss Muriel is kept from falling into
your clutches! Yes, I'll make short work of _you_, my lord. The ladies
shall hear from _my_ mouth of the lively half-hour I've spent with you,
and how I've suddenly funked the consequences and _raised a hullabaloo_!
Now, my lord! now then! now then!

[_His astonishment has given way to admiration; he gazes at her as if
spell-bound._

QUEX.

[_After a pause, during which she stands before him panting._] By God,
you're a fine plucked 'un! I've never known a better. [_Resolutely._]
No, my girl, I'm damned if you shall suffer! Quick! listen! pull
yourself together!

SOPHY.

[_Hysterically._] Eh? eh?

QUEX.

[_Taking her letter from his pocket and thrusting it into her hand._]
Here's your letter! take it--I won't have it. [_Going quickly to the
passage-door, unlocking it, and throwing the door open._] There you are!

SOPHY.

[_Sobbing._] Oh! oh!

[_There is a hurried, irregular knocking at the door._

QUEX.

[_Gripping her arm._] Hush! [_In a whisper._] Call out--wait!

SOPHY.

[_Raising her voice--unsteadily._] Wait--one moment!

QUEX.

[_In her ear, as he gives her the key of the door._] Say the Duchess is
with Mrs. Jack; say she wants her letters brought to her in the morning;
say anything--

SOPHY.

Yes, yes. [_Weeping and shaking and gasping, she goes to the door and
unlocks it. He tip-toes into the bedroom and turns out the light there.
She opens the door an inch or two._] Yes?

TWO VOICES.

[_A mans and a woman's._] What is it? what's the matter?

SOPHY.

[_Steadying herself, with an effort._] Nothing. Only her Grace has gone
to Mrs. Eden's room and wishes her letters taken there in the morning
most particularly--see?

THE VOICES.

What did you ring like that for? Thought the place was afire!

SOPHY.

Oh, don't make a fuss about nothing. You servants _are_ an old-fashioned
lot. Bong swor!

THE VOICES.

[_Angrily._] Oh, good-night.

SOPHY.

Ha, ha, ha!

[_She closes the door and totters away from it, sobbing hysterically,
as_ QUEX _comes to her._

QUEX.

[_Kindly._] Be off. Go to bed. Serve me how you please. Miss Fullgarney,
upon my soul, I--I humbly beg your pardon.

SOPHY.

[_Passing him._] Oh! oh! oh! [_Turning to him._] Oh, God bless you!
You--you--you're a gentleman! I'll do what I can for you!

[_She staggers to the passage-door and disappears, closing the door
behind her. Then he extinguishes the remaining light, and cautiously
lets himself out at the other door._


END OF THE THIRD ACT.




THE FOURTH ACT


_The scene is the same, in every respect, as that of the First Act._

[_On the right_ MISS CLARIDGE _is manicuring a young gentleman. On the
left_ MISS MOON _is putting her manicure-table in order, as if she has
recently disposed of a customer._ MISS LIMBIRD _is again at her desk,
busy over accounts. The door-gong sounds and, after a short interval,_
QUEX _and_ FRAYNE _enter, preceded by_ MISS HUDDLE. FRAYNE _appears
particularly depressed and unwell._

QUEX.

[_Nodding to_ MISS LIMBIRD.] Good morning.

MISS LIMBIRD.

Morning.

QUEX.

[_To_ MISS HUDDLE.] Miss Fullgarney has not yet arrived, you say?

MISS HUDDLE.

Not yet.

QUEX.

[_Looking at his watch._] Twenty minutes to twelve.

MISS MOON.

Yes, we've never known Miss Fullgarney to be so late at her business. I
do hope she hasn't been run over and injured.

MISS HUDDLE.

Or murdered by tramps.

QUEX.

My dear young lady!

MISS MOON.

Well, one does read _such_ things in the ha'penny papers.

MISS HUDDLE.

And she went down to Richmond yesterday afternoon, you know--to Fauncey
Court.

QUEX.

Of course I know--and slept there.

MISS MOON.

Oh, did she?

QUEX.

And has come up to town this morning.

MISS HUDDLE.

Then she'll have gone home, I expect, to change.

MISS MOON.

That's what she's done. [_Slightly disappointed._] Well, I _should_ have
been sorry if anything had happened to her.

QUEX.

Naturally.

MISS HUDDLE.

So should I, though I'm quite new here.

MISS MOON.

It never gives _me_ any pleasure to hear of people having their limbs
crushed.

MISS HUDDLE.

Or being murdered by tramps.

MISS MOON.

Won't your lordship take a chair? [_To_ FRAYNE, _who has wandered down
to the window._] And you, sir?

[_The young gentleman, his manicuring being finished, has risen, paid_
MISS LIMBIRD _and departed, followed by_ MISS CLARIDGE _carrying her
bowl and towel. The door-gong sounds._

QUEX.

Is that she?

MISS MOON.

No; that young gentleman leaving.

[MISS MOON, _carrying her bowl and towel, and_ MISS HUDDLE, _after
exchanging a few words with_ MISS LIMBIRD, _withdraw._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX, _biliously._] How revoltingly hideous these gals look this
morning!

QUEX.

Same as yesterday. You're seedy.

FRAYNE.

[_Closing his eyes._] Oh, shockingly seedy. [_Sitting._] I'm in for a go
of malaria, I fear.

QUEX.

Shame of me to have routed you out of bed and bothered you with my
affairs. [_Sitting._] But you can quite understand, Chick, how
confoundedly anxious I am as to the attitude Miss Fullgarney will adopt
towards me to-day.

FRAYNE.

Quite, quite. Harry--

QUEX.

Yes?

FRAYNE.

_What_ champagne was it we drank last night at Richmond?

QUEX.

[_With some bitterness._] Ha! Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or.

FRAYNE.

[_Shaking his head._] _I_ can't take champagne.

QUEX.

_Can't_ you!

FRAYNE.

I mean I oughtn't to.

QUEX.

Oh. [_Referring to his watch again._] I've given you a pretty minute
account of last night's tragedy, Chick. "I'll do what I can for
you"--those were the Fullgarney's words. Good lord, they came at me like
a bolt from the blue! Does she intend to act up to them, eh?--that's the
question. Surely she'll act up to them, Chick?

FRAYNE.

Have you met the ladies this morning?

QUEX.

Yes--except Muriel, who didn't show at breakfast.

FRAYNE.

How did you find 'em?

QUEX.

Amiability itself; _they_ know nothing. [_Rising and looking down upon_
FRAYNE.] You see, Chick, all that Miss Fullgarney has to do--if she
hasn't already done it--is to tell a trifling taradiddle to Muriel
concerning the events of last night. Well, in effect, she has promised
to do that, hasn't she? [_Impatiently._] Eh?

FRAYNE.

[_Gloomily._] Frankly, Harry, I shouldn't be in the least surprised if
the jade sold you.

QUEX.

[_His jaw falling._] You wouldn't?

FRAYNE.

No.

QUEX.

Phew! _I_ should. [_Warmly._] By Jove, I should!

FRAYNE.

I have conceived a great aversion to her--a long, scraggy gal.

QUEX.

[_With enthusiasm._] As full of courage as a thoroughbred!

FRAYNE.

[_Closing his eyes._] I can picture her elbows; sharp, pointed
elbows--the barbed fence of the spiteful woman.

QUEX.

Pooh! yesterday she was alluring.

FRAYNE.

[_Rising painfully._] Yesterday--! [_Gravely._] Harry, do you know there
are moments when I feel that I am changing towards the sex; when I fancy
I can discern the skeleton, as it were, through the rounded cheek?

QUEX.

You!

FRAYNE.

Yes, this novel sentiment is undoubtedly gaining possession of your old
friend--gradually, perhaps, but surely.

QUEX.

[_Regarding him searchingly._] Excuse me, Chick--did you turn into the
Beefsteak when you got back from Richmond last night?

FRAYNE.

For an hour. Oh, a great mistake.

QUEX.

What, a little whisky on the top of champagne?

FRAYNE.

[_Gazing pathetically at_ QUEX _with watery eyes._] A good deal of
champagne underneath a lot of whisky.

[_The door-gong sounds._

QUEX.

Who's this? [_He walks to the entrance, and looks into the further
room._] The Fullgarney.

[_He returns to his former position, as_ SOPHY _enters quickly followed
by_ MISS CLARIDGE, MISS MOON, _and_ MISS HUDDLE. SOPHY--_dressed as at
the end of the First Act--is pale, red-eyed, and generally unstrung. She
comes to_ QUEX, _disconcerted by his presence._

SOPHY.

[_Confronting him._] Oh, good morning.

QUEX.

May I beg a few moments--?

SOPHY.

Er--certainly. I'll just take off my things--

[_He joins_ FRAYNE. _She goes across the room where she is surrounded by
her girls._

MISS CLARIDGE.

Oh, Miss Fullgarney, how ill you look!

MISS MOON.

You do seem queer!

MISS HUDDLE.

Just as if you were sickening for something.

MISS LIMBIRD.

[_Coming between_ MISS CLARIDGE _and_ SOPHY.] Quite ghostly!

SOPHY.

I'm all right, girls; I've had a bad night, that's all. [_Giving her
umbrella to_ MISS CLARIDGE _and her bag to_ MISS MOON, _who passes it
to_ MISS HUDDLE.] Here! hi! take that beastly bag. [_To_ MISS LIMBIRD,
_who is removing her hat._] Oh, don't waggle my head, whatever you do!
[_To_ MISS MOON, _who is pulling at her jacket._] Tear the thing off.
[_Stripping off her gloves, and speaking in a whisper._] Girls, I don't
want to be disturbed for five minutes.

MISS LIMBIRD.

Very well, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Glancing at_ QUEX _and_ FRAYNE, _who are now looking out of the
window, with their backs towards her._] If Miss Eden should happen to
turn up before I'm free, just mention who I'm engaged with, will you?

MISS MOON.

Yes, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

That'll do. [_With sudden fierceness._] What are you all staring at?
Haven't any of _you_ ever slept in a strange bed?

[_The girls retreat hastily, each carrying an article belonging to_
SOPHY.

QUEX.

[_Advancing a step or two._] I am exceedingly sorry to see you looking
so fatigued.

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] Didn't close my eyes the whole night. [_She drops the_
portiere _over the entrance, and approaches_ QUEX.] Well, my lord?

QUEX.

I have ventured to call upon you, Miss Fullgarney, in the hope of
ratifying the excellent understanding with which we parted last night.

SOPHY.

[_Pointing to_ FRAYNE.] Well, but--er--

QUEX.

Oh--oh, yes--[_To_ FRAYNE, _who has turned away._] Frayne--[_To_
SOPHY.] I have taken my old and trusted friend, Sir Chichester Frayne,
into my confidence in this regrettable business.

SOPHY.

[_Dubiously._] Indeed?

QUEX.

I thought it desirable there should be a third party--

SOPHY.

P'r'aps you're right. [_Cuttingly._] One needs a third party when one
has the honour of meeting your lordship--[_Checking herself._] Excuse
me.

QUEX.

[_Pleasantly, with a slight bow of acknowledgment._] Before we go
further, I may tell you that her Grace has informed me of what passed
between you this morning.

SOPHY.

Nothing passed.

QUEX.

Precisely.

SOPHY.

The lady beamed upon me, for all the world as if she was an angel
spending a Saturday-to-Monday here below; and I dressed her hair for her
just as if I didn't want to tear it out by the roots. And then she
turned up her eyes and said she hoped every happiness would attend me,
and went downstairs to prayers.

QUEX.

Will you allow me to--to thank you?

SOPHY.

[_Frigidly._] You needn't. [_Abruptly._] Oh, by-the-by, the lady gave me
a--a keepsake, she called it. [_Endeavouring to extract some bulky
object from her pocket._] I mean to burn the thing, once I've found out
what's inside it. But I can't get it open. Here it is.

[_She exhibits the little box, covered with brocade, which_ QUEX _has
returned to the_ DUCHESS _in the previous Act._

QUEX.

[_Surprised._] By Jove!

SOPHY.

[_Simply._] Eh?

QUEX.

Er--I was wondering what she can have put in that little box.

SOPHY.

Yes, _I_ wonder. [_Pulling at the lid._] It's locked.

QUEX.

I fancy it has one of those Bramah locks which snap. I may have a key--
[_He produces his key-ring and, promptly selecting a key, unlocks the
box._] Fortunate coincidence.

[_She opens the box and takes out the first thing that presents
itself--the blue silk garter with the diamond buckle._

SOPHY.

[_Scandalised._] Oh, my gracious! I _beg_ your pardon.

[_She leaves him hurriedly and hides the box in the cabinet._

QUEX.

[_Quietly to_ FRAYNE.] Chick, she has passed the souvenirs on to Miss
Fullgarney!

FRAYNE.

[_Bitterly._] How like a woman!

QUEX.

Some women.

FRAYNE.

[_In disgust._] Pah!

QUEX.

Yesterday she was alluring.

FRAYNE.

[_Waving the past from him._] Yesterday--[_with a slight hiccup_] hic!
[_Turning away apologetically._] The heat in this room--

[_He walks away, as_ SOPHY _returns to_ QUEX.

QUEX.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Well, I must not detain you longer, Miss Fullgarney. But
there is, of course, one point upon which I should like to feel
completely assured. You have seen Miss Eden--?

SOPHY.

No; not since last evening.

QUEX.

[_Anxiously._] When do you--?

SOPHY.

[_Looking away._] I'm rather expecting her to pop in here during the
day.

QUEX.

Quite so. And--and then--?

SOPHY.

[_Facing him candidly._] Your lordship told me last night that your
little visit to the Duchess was a perfectly innocent one?

QUEX.

Absolutely innocent. [_Hesitatingly._] I fear I cannot go further than
that.

FRAYNE.

[_Fanning himself with his handkerchief._] By gad, why not, Harry? We
are in Miss Fullgarney's hands. [_To_ SOPHY.] His lordship went to her
Grace's apartment solely to return some gifts which he had accepted from
her in the--ah--dim, distant past, and to say adieu.

SOPHY.

[_Witheringly._] Ah, I knew _she_ was a double-faced thing; [_looking
at_ QUEX _relentingly_] but p'r'aps one _has_ been a little down on
_you_.

QUEX.

[_Meekly._] You have it in your power to atone for that amply.

SOPHY.

[_Half-feelingly, half-sullenly._] At any rate, you behaved, in the end,
like a gentleman to me last night. And so--when I see Miss Muriel--

QUEX.

Yes?

SOPHY.

[_Deliberately._] I am going to tell her a lie.

QUEX.

[_With some emotion._] Miss Fullgarney, I--I--

SOPHY.

Oh, I said I'd do what I can for you. [_Uncomfortably._] And this is all
I _can_ do.

QUEX.

[_Light-heartedly._] All!

SOPHY.

Just to give you a chance.

QUEX.

Chance! [_Drawing a deep breath._] You place my happiness beyond danger.

SOPHY.

[_Impulsively, offering him her hand._] I wish you luck, my lord.

[_He takes her hand and wrings it._

FRAYNE.

[_Who has opened the window for air._] Hallo!

SOPHY.

[_Turning nervously._] What--?

FRAYNE.

[_Looking out._] Isn't this your friend, Captain Bastling?

QUEX.

Bastling?

FRAYNE.

At that window?

[FRAYNE _moves away to the circular table and sniffs at a bottle of
scent._ QUEX _goes to the window._

QUEX.

[_Looking out._] Yes. What's old Napier up to there?

SOPHY.

[_Guiltily._] I--I heard Captain Bastling mention that he was thinking
of having his hand read by Mr. Valma some time or other.

QUEX.

No! ha, ha, ha! [_Leaving the window._] He doesn't see me; I won't
disturb him. [_To_ SOPHY, _jocularly._] A convenient arrangement--it is
possible to transfer oneself from the manicurist to the palmist without
the trouble of putting on one's gloves.

SOPHY.

Ha, ha! y--yes.

QUEX.

[_Pausing on his way to the entrance._] Miss Fullgarney, may I ask if
you and Mr. Valma have fixed upon the date of your marriage?

SOPHY.

Oh, we sha'n't get married yet awhile--not for a year or more, I fancy.

QUEX.

[_Graciously._] In that case, I shall hope to have the pleasure, and the
privilege, of being present at your wedding--with my wife.

SOPHY.

[_Hanging her head._] Thank you.

QUEX.

Chick--

[_He goes out._

FRAYNE.

[_Turning to_ SOPHY _with dignity._] Miss Fullgarney, one thing I desire
to say. It is that your behaviour this morning completely
obliterates--the--

[_He is cut short by another hiccup and, with a bow, withdraws._ POLLITT
_appears at the window._ SOPHY _goes to the entrance, and watches the
departure of_ QUEX _and_ FRAYNE. POLLITT _enters the room. The door-gong
sounds._

POLLITT.

Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_Turning._] Oh! Valma, dear?

POLLITT.

[_With a heavy brow._] Captain Bastling is waiting at my place, for Miss
Eden.

SOPHY.

[_Subdued._] Is he?

POLLITT.

Dearest, during my brief but, I pride myself, honourable association
with palmistry, this is the first time my rooms have been used for this
sort of game.

SOPHY.

This sort of game?

POLLITT.

Other Professors have stooped to it, but I--oh, no, it is playing
palmistry a little bit too low down.

SOPHY.

[_Unhappily._] Surely it's quite harmless, love--a couple of young
people meeting to say good-bye.

POLLITT.

From what you've told me, I greatly doubt that it _will_ be good-bye.

SOPHY.

D--d--do you?

POLLITT.

[_Hotly._] Anyhow I resent _your_ being the go-between of this gallant
captain and a girl betrothed to another man--you who are naturally such
a thorough lady!

SOPHY.

Oh--oh, Valma--!

[_She drops her head upon his shoulder and whimpers._

POLLITT.

Dearest, what have I said?

SOPHY.

Valma, I've made up my mind. I intend to do exactly what you wish, in
the future, in everything. I'm going to give up squatting down here
manicuring gentlemen--

POLLITT.

Sophy!

SOPHY.

And shall simply sail about these rooms, overlooking my girls in the
plainest of silks. And never again will I interfere in an underhand way
in other people's affairs on any account whatever. [_Putting her arms
round his neck._] Yes, you _shall_ find me a lady--a lady--

POLLITT.

[_Tenderly._] Ah--! [_The door-gong sounds. She raises her head and
dries her eyes hurriedly._] Is that Miss Eden?

[_He crosses to the window as she goes to the entrance._ MISS LIMBIRD
_appears._

MISS LIMBIRD.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Here's Miss Eden.

SOPHY.

[_With a nod._] Give me half a minute with her; then I'm at liberty.
[MISS LIMBIRD _disappears._ SOPHY _comes to_ POLLITT.] I'll send Muriel
across directly.

[_He departs._ MISS LIMBIRD _returns and, holding the_ portiere _aside,
admits_ MURIEL. MURIEL _is wearing a veil._ MISS LIMBIRD _withdraws._
SOPHY _meets_ MURIEL; _they kiss each other undemonstratively._

SOPHY.

[_Constrainedly._] Well, darling?

MURIEL.

[_In the same way._] Well, Sophy?

SOPHY.

You're here then?

MURIEL.

As you see.

SOPHY.

Any difficulty?

MURIEL.

[_In a hard voice._] No. The Duchess and Mrs. Jack were coming to town
shopping, and Lady Owbridge proposed that she and I should tack
ourselves on to them.

SOPHY.

How have you got rid of 'em?

MURIEL.

Spoken the truth, for once--my head really does throb terribly. They
think I've run in here to sit quietly with you while they--[_Suddenly._]
Oh, be quick, Sophy!

SOPHY.

Quick, dear?

MURIEL.

Why don't you tell me?

SOPHY.

Tell you--?

MURIEL.

About last night--this woman--

SOPHY.

Her Grace?

MURIEL.

Yes, yes.

SOPHY.

Oh, why, I haven't anything to tell, darling.

MURIEL.

Haven't anything to--?

SOPHY.

You see, I couldn't help remembering what you'd called me--mean, and
despicable, and all the rest of it; and the feeling came over me that
you were right, that I had been sneaky. And so, after I'd attended to
her Grace, I--I went straight to bed.

MURIEL.

[_Sitting._] Oh, yes. Then you didn't attempt to--to watch?

SOPHY.

No.

MURIEL.

[_Faintly._] Oh!

SOPHY.

Aren't you glad?

MURIEL.

Glad!

SOPHY.

Why, you were certain that the word or two I'd overheard meant nothing
wrong.

MURIEL.

I said so.

SOPHY.

Said so!

MURIEL.

[_Turning to her with clenched hands._] Yes, but at the same time you
put the dreadful idea into my head, Sophy, and I've not been able to
dismiss it for one moment since.

SOPHY.

[_Under her breath._] Oh!

[_Sitting._

MURIEL.

[_Lifting her veil._] There! you can see what I've been going through.

SOPHY.

[_Looking at her._] I'm so sorry.

MURIEL.

[_Looking at_ SOPHY.] _You_ look rather washed out too. Haven't you
slept, either?

SOPHY.

[_Turning her head away._] Not over well. [_Falteringly._] Then, after
all, it would have been better if I _had_ spied on her?

MURIEL.

Anything--even that--would have been preferable to this uncertainty.

SOPHY.

[_To herself, her jaw falling._] Oh--!

MURIEL.

[_Looking towards the window._] Has _he_ arrived?

SOPHY.

Yes. [MURIEL _rises, then_ SOPHY.

MURIEL.

[_Producing, from her pocket, a jeweller's case and showing it to_
SOPHY.] Do you like this? I've just bought it, over the way, at
Gressier's.

SOPHY.

For Captain Bastling?

MURIEL.

[_With a nod, opening the box._] A solitaire shirt-stud.

[_She retains a neatly-folded piece of paper which is enclosed in the
box and hands the box to_ SOPHY.

SOPHY.

Beautiful. [_Glancing at the piece of paper in_ MURIEL'S _hand._] What's
that?

MURIEL.

[_Unfolding the paper carefully._] This goes with it.

[_She holds the paper before_ SOPHY.

SOPHY.

[_Reading._] "To Napier--"

MURIEL.

[_Withdrawing the paper._] Ah, no.

SOPHY.

Mayn't I?

MURIEL.

[_Yielding the paper impulsively._] Yes, _you_ may.

[MURIEL _turns away and stands leaning upon the back of the screen-chair
on the left, with her face in her hands._ SOPHY _places the jeweller's
case upon the circular table._

SOPHY.

[_Reading with difficulty._] "To Napier from Muriel. I only--" what? You
_have_ blotted it.

MURIEL.

[_With a sob._] Have I?

SOPHY.

You've been crying over it.

MURIEL.

Yes.

SOPHY.

"I only--" I can't read it.

MURIEL.

[_Through her tears._]

    "I only know--we loved in vain:
    I only feel--Farewell!--Farewell!"

SOPHY.

[_In a low voice._] Very nice, darling. [_She lays the paper tenderly
upon the box and goes to_ MURIEL. _Eyeing her keenly._] You really _are_
determined, then, to wish him good-bye?

MURIEL.

[_Turning to her and weeping upon her shoulder._] Oh, Sophy! Sophy!

SOPHY.

There, there! it'll soon be over.

MURIEL.

[_Raising her head._] Over! yes, yes! over!

SOPHY.

And--p'r'aps it's all for the best, you know.

MURIEL.

For the best!

SOPHY.

What I mean is, that very likely we've both of us been a little cruel to
poor Lord Quex--hard on him--

MURIEL.

[_Indignantly._] _You_ say this to me! [_Distractedly._] _You_ say this,
after having poisoned my mind and given me an awful night of
sleeplessness and doubt. Yesterday I was as firm as a rock; to-day I'm
as weak as water again. [_Facing_ SOPHY _with flashing eyes._] Ah, I
tell you honestly you'd better not let me meet Captain Bastling this
morning! you'd better not let me see him!

[_The door-gong sounds._ BASTLING _appears at the window, and looks into
the room._

SOPHY.

[_Whose back is towards the window, soothingly._] No, no, you sha'n't go
across to Valma's while you're like this. I'll make an excuse for you to
Captain Bastling--

BASTLING.

[_At the window._] Muriel!

MURIEL.

[_Passing_ SOPHY _swiftly._] Napier!

SOPHY.

[_Holding her arm._] Darling--

MURIEL.

[_Freeing herself._] Release me, Sophy! release me! ah--!

[_She joins_ BASTLING _and they disappear. As_ SOPHY _goes to the window
and looks out after them,_ QUEX _enters, followed by_ FRAYNE.

QUEX.

[_Glancing round the room._] Miss Fullgarney--

SOPHY.

[_Turning sharply._] Hey? [_Blankly._] Oh--my lord--!

QUEX.

I am compelled to intrude upon you again. I have just met Lady Owbridge,
with her Grace and Mrs. Eden in Sackville Street. My aunt sends me with
a message to Miss Eden.

SOPHY.

[_Confused._] M--m--Miss Eden?

QUEX.

Mrs. Eden has proposed a lunch at Prince's, provided that Miss Eden
feels equal to--[_Looking about him again._] Where is Miss Eden?

SOPHY.

Where?

QUEX.

She is here--with you.

SOPHY.

N--no.

QUEX.

No?

SOPHY.

[_With a gulp._] _I_ haven't seen anything of her.

QUEX.

[_In an altered tone._] Really?

SOPHY.

No.

QUEX.

[_Calmly._] Strange.

[_He walks away and joins_ FRAYNE. SOPHY _stealthily closes and fastens
the window._

QUEX.

[_In a low voice, to_ FRAYNE.] Chick--

FRAYNE.

Eh?

QUEX.

Miss Eden _is_ here. Why is the Fullgarney telling me this falsehood?

FRAYNE.

You will remember I was positive she would sell you before she'd done
with you.

QUEX.

[_Gripping_ FRAYNE'S _arm._] Don't! [_Advancing to_ SOPHY--_politely._]
I understood from my aunt, Miss Fullgarney, that her ladyship left Miss
Eden at Gressier's, the jeweller's, less than half an hour ago.

SOPHY.

[_Fussing with the objects upon the cabinet and the manicure-table._]
Oh?

QUEX.

Miss Eden had some little commission to discharge at Gressier's, and
intended coming across to you immediately afterwards.

SOPHY.

[_Quickly._] Ah, then she hasn't finished her business at Gressier's
yet.

QUEX.

Yes, because I looked in at the shop on my way here.

SOPHY.

Funny. I can't imagine where she's taken herself to.

QUEX.

[_Earnestly._] Miss Fullgarney--

SOPHY.

My lord?

QUEX.

I thought we had become good friends, you and I--?

SOPHY.

So we have, I hope.

QUEX.

And that you were desirous of rendering me a service?

SOPHY.

Well, aren't I, my lord?

QUEX.

Are you? You _know_ that Miss Eden came to you directly she left
Gressier's. You _know_ she did.

SOPHY.

[_After a pause--drawing a deep breath._] Yes, I--I own it.

QUEX.

[_Reproachfully._] Ah, Miss Fullgarney!

SOPHY.

She _has_ been in, and I _have_ done you the service I promised.

QUEX.

[_Calmly._] You have?

SOPHY.

Indeed I have, as true as I stand here. [_Steadying herself._] But the
fact is--the fact is Miss Eden had a purchase to make that she didn't
wish the ladies to interfere over, and--and she has run out for ten
minutes. If your lordship must know where she is, she's in the
Burlington.

QUEX.

[_Very quietly._] Oh, she has run out for a few minutes?

SOPHY.

She might be a quarter of an hour.

QUEX.

Not _run_ out; _flown_ out, at one of these windows.

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] One of these windows?

QUEX.

[_Pointing to the entrance._] She has not gone out by the door.

SOPHY.

What do you mean?

QUEX.

Your young ladies assured me just now that Miss Eden was in this room
with you. [FRAYNE, _possessed of an idea, has gone to the door in the
partition. He now raps at the door gently._] No, no, Chick--please! we
are not policemen.

FRAYNE.

[_Opening the door a few inches._] Miss Eden, I regret to learn you are
suffering from headache.

SOPHY.

[_Indignantly._] Well, of all the liberties--!

QUEX.

[_Angrily._] Frayne!

FRAYNE.

May I tell you of an unfailing remedy--? [_He peeps into the private
room, then withdraws his head, and says to_ QUEX.] No.

SOPHY.

[_Flouncing up to_ FRAYNE, _and speaking volubly and violently._] Now,
look here, sir, I'm a busy woman--as busy and as hard-working a woman as
any in London. Because you see things a bit slack Ascot week, it doesn't
follow that my books, and a hundred little matters, don't want attending
to. [_Sitting at the desk and opening and closing the books noisily._]
And I'm certainly not going to have gentlemen, whoever they may be,
marching into my place, and taking possession of it, and doubting my
word, and opening and shutting doors, exactly as if they were staying in
a common hotel. I'd have you to know that my establishment isn't
conducted on _that_ principle.

[QUEX _has been standing, with compressed lips and a frown upon his
face, leaning upon the back of the chair near the circular table.
During_ SOPHY'S _harangue his eyes fall upon the jeweller's case and the
scrap of paper lying open upon it. He stares at the writing for a
moment, then comes to the table and picks up both the case and the
paper._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ SOPHY, _while this is going on._] My good lady, a little candour
on your part--

SOPHY.

I don't understand what you're hinting at by "a little candour." You've
already been told where Miss Eden is, and anybody who knows me knows
that if I say a thing--

FRAYNE.

But when your young ladies declare--

SOPHY.

I'm really not responsible for the sayings and doings of a parcel of
stupid girls. If they didn't see Miss Eden go out they were asleep, and
if they weren't asleep they're blind; and as I've explained till I'm
hoarse, I'm very busy this morning, and I should be extremely obliged to
you two gentlemen if you'd kindly go away and call again a little later.

QUEX.

Chick.

FRAYNE.

Eh?

QUEX.

I want you.

[FRAYNE _comes to_ QUEX, _who hands him the jeweller's case and the slip
of paper._

SOPHY.

[_Fussing over her books, oblivious of what is transpiring._] As if the
difficulty of conducting a business of this kind isn't sufficient
without extra bothers and worries being brought down on one's head! What
with one's enormous rent, and rotten debts, it's heartbreaking! Here's a
woman here, on my books, who runs an account for fifteen months, with
the face of an angel, and no more intends to pay me than to jump over
St. Paul's--

QUEX.

[_Who again has possession of the jeweller's case and the paper._] Miss
Fullgarney--

SOPHY.

What now, my lord? Upon my word, it is _too_ bad--!

QUEX.

Please come here.

SOPHY.

[_Coming forward--now on the verge of tears._] After such a night as
I've had, too. I never could do without my full eight hours--

QUEX.

Be silent!

SOPHY.

What!

QUEX.

Miss Eden and Captain Bastling--

SOPHY.

Eh?

QUEX.

They are acquaintances--friends. [_With a stamp of the foot._] They are
on terms of--

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] Oh!

QUEX.

[_Pointing to the window._] She is with him at this moment--there.

SOPHY.

[_Unsteadily._] Whatever are you saying, my lord? [_Discovering that he
has the jeweller's case and the paper._] Ah--!

QUEX.

Yes, I found these upon the table. [_She advances, to take them from
him._] Miss Eden left them here--forgot them!

SOPHY.

[_In a murmur._] Yes.

[_He gives them to her. She puts them into her pocket and sits._

QUEX.

Come! tell me.

SOPHY.

You--you are not the only one in the field, my lord.

QUEX.

So I conclude.

SOPHY.

Have pity on her!

QUEX.

[_Sternly._] How dare you!

SOPHY.

It's more my fault than hers.

QUEX.

Continue.

SOPHY.

She has wanted to stop it, hating herself for being deceitful, but
I--I've encouraged her, egged her on.

QUEX.

Yes.

SOPHY.

They've been in the habit of meeting here at my place.

QUEX.

[_Again pointing to the window._] In this fellow's rooms--Mr. Valma's--

SOPHY.

[_Rising._] No, no. They've never met there, till this morning. But
he--young Bastling--he's going away, abroad, in a fortnight or so, and
he wished to say good-bye to her quietly.

QUEX.

[_Turning towards the window fiercely._] Ah--!

SOPHY.

[_Laying her hand upon his arm._] Be careful, my lord!

QUEX.

[_Looking at her._] Careful?

SOPHY.

[_Significantly._] I know how she feels to-day. If you _want_ to send
her to Hong-Kong with Captain Bastling--

[QUEX _hesitates for a moment, then crosses to_ FRAYNE, _to whom he
speaks apart._

QUEX.

Chick! how shall I act?

FRAYNE.

[_Dismally._] Dear old chap, to be quite honest with you, I was not
wholly captivated by Miss Eden when you presented me yesterday.

QUEX.

Tshah! What shall I do? wait?

FRAYNE.

In any event, of course, the man's head has to be punched. But it might
be wise to delay doing it until--

QUEX.

[_To_ SOPHY.] You spoke, a little while ago, of giving me "a chance." I
see now what was in your mind. There's a risk, then, that this good-bye
may not be final?

SOPHY.

[_Stammeringly._] W--well, I--

QUEX.

[_Sharply._] Eh?

SOPHY.

[_Breaking down._] Oh, my lord, recollect, she's not much more than a
girl!

QUEX.

No, she is not much more than a girl; but you--though you and she are of
the same age--_you_ are a woman. _You_ know your world, upstairs and
downstairs, boudoir and kitchen. Yet you own you have encouraged her in
this, made her clandestine meetings with this penniless beggar possible.
You--! you deserve to be whipped, Miss Fullgarney--whipped!

SOPHY.

[_Facing him._] Come, my lord! not so fast! After all, remember, Captain
Bastling may be poor, but he's Miss Eden's match in other ways.

QUEX.

Match?

SOPHY.

Young, and good-looking. Oh, and isn't it natural--?

QUEX.

Quite natural--quite. [_Turning to_ FRAYNE.] Chick, what an ass I've
been; what fools we old chaps are, all of us! Why, if I had led the life
of a saint, it would only be necessary for a man like this Bastling to
come along, to knock me out. Good lord, how clear it is, when it's
brought home to you in this fashion! It isn't the scamp, the roue, a
girl shies at; it's the _old_ scamp, the _old_ roue. She'll take the
young one, the blackguard with a smooth skin and a bright eye, directly
he raises a hand--take him without a murmur, money-hunter though he may
be. Take him! by Jove, she leaps into his arms!

FRAYNE.

D'ye mean that Bastling--?

QUEX.

Napier Bastling! [_Breaking into a prolonged peal of laughter._] Ha, ha,
ha, ha! Chick, he's just what _I_ was at eight-and-twenty. Ha, ha, ha!
what I was--and worse, damn him!--and she loves him.

SOPHY.

[_Who has been listening with wide-open eyes and parted lips._] It's not
true! it isn't true!

QUEX.

[_Turning to her._] Isn't it! You think so, hey? No, I suppose you
haven't experimentalised upon _him_; you haven't spied on him, and
tempted him as you tempted me. You have never got _him_ into a quiet
corner and stuck your impudent face in his. If you had--

SOPHY.

Oh! he wouldn't--!

[FRAYNE _has walked away;_ QUEX _now joins him._

QUEX.

[_As he goes._] Wouldn't he! ha, ha, ha! [_To_ FRAYNE, _fiercely._] What
the devil am I to do, Chick?

FRAYNE.

Punch his head.

SOPHY.

[_Panting._] Oh! oh! [BASTLING, _indistinctly seen through the muslin
blinds, appears at the window. He raps gently upon the window frame._
SOPHY _glances at the window._] Eh--? [_Under her breath._] Oh! [_She
goes swiftly to_ QUEX _and_ FRAYNE, _seizes them by the arms, and
pushes them towards the door in the partition, saying agitatedly._] Wait
there! don't come out, or make a noise--

QUEX.

What are you up to now?

SOPHY.

Stay here till I find out what's happened. Oh, I'll do what I can for
you!

[_They enter the private room and she closes the door. Then she returns
to the window, unfastens it, and retreats._ BASTLING _pushes open the
window and comes in._

BASTLING.

[_Advancing to her excitedly._] Ah, Sophy! [_Looking round._] Any one
about?

SOPHY.

[_Pointing to the left._] All my girls are in there. Where is she?

BASTLING.

Next door. She's sitting down, calming herself--having her cry out.

SOPHY.

Crying!

BASTLING.

She's all right--awfully happy. I told her I'd come and tell you.

SOPHY.

Tell me--!

BASTLING.

It's settled.

SOPHY.

Settled!

BASTLING.

She's mine, Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_With a gasp._] Yours!

BASTLING.

We're going to be married at once--next week. We shall need your help
still. Of course, it must be a secret marriage. She will follow me out
by-and-by.

SOPHY.

[_Nodding, dully._] Oh, yes.

BASTLING.

Why, aren't you glad about it? [_Smilingly._] Don't you congratulate us?

SOPHY.

C--certainly.

BASTLING.

Good. And--[_shaking hands with her_] thanks to _you_. [_Releasing her
hand._] Thanks.

SOPHY.

[_Nerving herself for her task._] Thanks!

BASTLING.

A million of 'em; What's the matter?

SOPHY.

Oh, nothing.

BASTLING.

Yes, there is. Come, out with it.

SOPHY.

Well--_thanks_! [_Tossing her head._] There isn't much in thanks.

BASTLING.

[_Puzzled._] Not much in thanks?

SOPHY.

[_Turning away, pouting._] _I_ think not.

BASTLING.

[_Smiling._] Oh, I know I owe a tremendous deal to the pretty
manicurist, and I don't intend to forget it. Just now I'm rather
hard-up, [_glancing towards the window_] but I shall be in funds before
long--

SOPHY.

[_Turning to him with genuine indignation._] Oh!

BASTLING.

What do you want, then?

SOPHY.

[_After a moment's hesitation, sidling up to him._] Not money.

BASTLING.

Not?

SOPHY.

A little more than plain thanks though.

BASTLING.

[_Looking into her eyes, laughing softly._] Ha, ha, ha!

SOPHY.

[_Slyly._] Ha, ha, ha!

BASTLING.

Thanks--differently expressed--? [_She plays with the lapel of his coat
and giggles. He takes her chin in his hand._] Ha, ha, ha! Sophy!

SOPHY.

Ha, ha!

[MURIEL _appears at the open window and enters the room noiselessly.
Seeing_ BASTLING _and_ SOPHY _together, she halts in surprise._

BASTLING.

[_Whose back is to the window._] I say--mind, no tales.

SOPHY.

[_Looking at_ MURIEL _steadily over_ BASTLING'S _shoulder._] Likely I'd
split on you, isn't it?

BASTLING.

Honour bright?

SOPHY.

Oh, if you've any doubt--

[_He raises her face to his and kisses her upon the lips warmly and
lingeringly. She goes back a step or two, still gazing fixedly at_
MURIEL.

BASTLING.

Eh--?

[_Following the direction of her eyes, he turns and encounters_ MURIEL.
_The three stand for a moment or two without movement._

BASTLING.

[_After the pause, speaking in a low voice, his eyes avoiding_
MURIEL'S.] Well--ha!--I suppose every man makes a big mistake at least
once in his life. I've made mine. At the same time, I--I--[_hurriedly_]
oh, I'll write.

[_With a slight, quick bow to_ MURIEL, _he wheels round sharply and goes
out._

SOPHY.

[_Wiping his kiss from her lips._] The wretch! the wretch!

[_The door-gong sounds._

MURIEL.

[_Covering her eyes with her hand and uttering a low moan._] Oh--!

SOPHY.

[_Hanging her head._] You see, darling, yesterday at Fauncey Court, I--I
tried it on with Lord Quex, and he behaved like a gentleman. So the
notion struck me that I'd treat the young man in the same way, just to
see what _he_ was made of, and--well, I'm glad you came in. You might
never have believed me.

MURIEL.

[_In a hard voice._] The shirt-stud--the stuff I wrote--I left them with
you--

SOPHY.

[_Producing them._] I found them after you'd gone.

[MURIEL _takes the piece of paper and tears it into small pieces._ SOPHY
_offers her the jeweller's case._

MURIEL.

[_Haughtily._] Take that back to Gressier's this afternoon, please, and
tell them I've changed my mind. Say I'll have a little silver collar for
my dog, in its place.

[_She sinks into the screen-chair, with her eyes closed. Slipping the
case into her pocket,_ SOPHY _tip-toes up to the door in the partition;
she opens it and beckons to_ QUEX, _who appears with_ FRAYNE.

SOPHY.

[_To_ QUEX, _in a whisper._] Phsst! It's all nicely settled. She's said
good-bye to him for good. What a fuss you made about nothing!

[_She points to the screen-chair; he approaches_ MURIEL. SOPHY _and_
FRAYNE _talk together._

QUEX.

[_Softly._] Muriel--

MURIEL.

[_Opening her eyes, startled._] Quex!

QUEX.

[_Brightly._] I came up to town this morning with Sir Chichester. We've
just met aunt Julia, and the rest of 'em, in Sackville Street. Mrs.
Jack clamours for lunch at Prince's. What do you say?

MURIEL.

[_Passing her hand across her eyes._] Thanks. It'll be jolly.

QUEX.

[_Gaily._] Ah!

MURIEL.

[_Laying her hand upon his sleeve._] Quex--

QUEX.

Eh?

MURIEL.

[_Rising, and speaking in a low, appealing voice._] Give me your word
you have been loyal to me, down to your very thought, since our
engagement.

QUEX.

[_Earnestly._] Muriel, I--

MURIEL.

Hush! [_Giving him her hand._] I believe you. [_The door-gong sounds._]
And, look here! I haven't been quite fair, or generous, to you, I am
afraid. But I am going to be different--

QUEX.

After to-day!

MURIEL.

From this moment. Harry--

QUEX.

Hey?

MURIEL.

I won't keep you till the end of the year. Marry me, and have done with
it, directly the Season is over, and take me away.

QUEX.

[_Bending over her hand._] Good heavens--! [MISS LIMBIRD _holds the_
portiere _aside and admits_ LADY OWBRIDGE, _the_ DUCHESS OF STROOD,
_and_ MRS. EDEN. MISS LIMBIRD _then returns to her desk._ QUEX _goes to_
LADY OWBRIDGE, _takes her arm, and leads her forward._] Aunt Julia!
aunt! my dear aunt Julia!

[_The_ DUCHESS _joins_ FRAYNE. MRS. EDEN _comes to_ MURIEL _and receives
the news of the hastened marriage._ SOPHY _moves away to the window._

QUEX.

[_Excitedly, to_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Oh, my dear aunt!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

What ails you, Henry?

QUEX.

Muriel! she--she--she's going to marry me!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

I hope so.

QUEX.

But at the end of the Season! a month hence! a month, a month, a month!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

My dear boy! Heaven prosper your union! Muriel--

MRS. EDEN.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Isn't this glorious news, Lady Owbridge? But I
always thought it unwise to protract the engagement. You never know
_what_ may happen, do you? I must tell the dear Duchess--

[_She joins the_ DUCHESS _and_ FRAYNE, _and chatters to them._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_To_ MURIEL, _in a low voice._] Muriel, you are right. In this life, if
you have anything to pardon, pardon quickly. Slow forgiveness is little
better than no forgiveness.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Coming to_ QUEX.] Congratulate you.

QUEX.

Thanks.

[LADY OWBRIDGE _moves away, joining the_ DUCHESS, _as_ MRS. EDEN
_returns to_ MURIEL.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Kissing_ MURIEL.] You sensible girl!

[FRAYNE _comes to_ QUEX.

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX, _mournfully._] Old chap, this is shockingly sudden.

QUEX.

Ha, ha!

FRAYNE.

However, we must contrive, you and I, to pass one more evening together
before the event.

QUEX.

One! many!

FRAYNE.

No, no, I mean a buster, Harry; a regular night of it--

QUEX.

Good lord! go away!

[MRS. EDEN _joins_ LADY OWBRIDGE _as_ FRAYNE _advances to_ MURIEL.

FRAYNE.

[_Taking_ MURIEL'S _hand._] Dear young lady, you are about to become the
wife of one of the best. There are not many of us left; we are a
dwindling band, Miss Eden--

[_The_ DUCHESS _comes to_ QUEX.

DUCHESS.

[_To_ QUEX, _softly._] Sincere congratulations. [_He bows stiffly._] At
any time, you know, when you return to England--

QUEX.

[_Eyeing her sternly._] Yes?

DUCHESS.

After your honeymoon--

QUEX.

Yes?

DUCHESS.

Should you feel _ennuye_--

QUEX.

I!

DUCHESS.

The air at Burwarton never failed to exhilarate you. So pray do not
forget--

QUEX.

[_Indignantly._] Duchess!

DUCHESS.

[_Sweetly._] That poor dear Strood would be pleased to see you. [FRAYNE
_joins_ LADY OWBRIDGE _and_ MRS. EDEN _as the_ DUCHESS _advances to_
MURIEL.] Dear Miss Eden, may your married life be as beautiful, as
serene, as my own!

MURIEL.

[_Frankly._] Thank you, Duchess.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

We shall be a happy party at luncheon. Shall we go, Duchess?
Muriel--Henry--[QUEX _joins_ MURIEL. SOPHY _is eyeing_ MURIEL
_wistfully._ MISS LIMBIRD _holds the_ portiere _aside, to allow the
visitors to pass out._] Good morning, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

Good morning, my lady.

DUCHESS.

Miss Fullgarney--

SOPHY.

Good-bye, your Grace.

[_The_ DUCHESS _and_ LADY OWBRIDGE _go out._

FRAYNE.

[_Following them with_ MRS. EDEN.] Good-day, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

Good-day, sir.

MRS. EDEN.

Morning, Sophy.

SOPHY.

Morning, Mrs. Eden.

[FRAYNE _and_ MRS. EDEN _go out._

QUEX.

[_Following them with_ MURIEL.] Good morning, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Blankly._] G--good morning, my lord. [QUEX _and_ MURIEL _go out,
followed by_ MISS LIMBIRD. SOPHY _stands aghast, her bosom heaving._]
Oh! oh! oh! [_The door-gong sounds._ POLLITT _appears at the window._
SOPHY _is wringing her hands._] Oh--!

POLLITT.

[_Entering._] My love! what's the matter?

SOPHY.

She--she's left me, without a word!

POLLITT.

She?

SOPHY.

Muriel--without so much as wishing me good-morning. [_With a sob._] Oh!
when I've done what I can for everybody!

[_The_ portiere _is pulled aside and_ MURIEL _returns, unaccompanied,
and comes to_ SOPHY'S _side swiftly._

MURIEL.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Forgive me. You did it for the best. [_Kissing her._] I'm
sorry--

SOPHY.

[_Throwing her arms round_ MURIEL'S _neck._] Oh! my darling--! [MURIEL
_runs out._ SOPHY _goes to_ POLLITT _and drops her head upon his breast,
restfully._] Ah! _that's_ all right.

[_The door-gong sounds finally._


THE END.




Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
London & Edinburgh





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gay Lord Quex, by Arthur W. Pinero

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