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.

THE END