Chapter I: Part 1

_THE GAY LORD QUEX_

[Transcriber's Notes: The following changes were made to the e-book edition of this book: potégée changed to protégée, 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_

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_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 portière. 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 Crème 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 niggers.

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 protégée 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-coloured wig, with a pale, anxious face, watery eyes, and no eyebrows._ MRS. EDEN _is an ultra-fashionably-dressed woman of about thirty, shrill and_ maniéré.

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 _à désillusionner_! [_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.