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_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_
Paper cover, 1s. 6d.; cloth, 2s. 6d. each
_THE TIMES_
_THE PROFLIGATE_
_THE CABINET MINISTER_
_THE HOBBY-HORSE_
_LADY BOUNTIFUL_
_THE MAGISTRATE_
_DANDY DICK_
_SWEET LAVENDER_
_THE SCHOOLMISTRESS_
_THE WEAKER SEX_
_THE AMAZONS_
_THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY_
_THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH_
_THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT_
_THE PRINCESS AND THE BUTTERFLY_
_TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"_
THE PINERO BIRTHDAY BOOK
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY MYRA HAMILTON
With a Portrait, cloth extra, price 2s. 6d.
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
_THE GAY LORD QUEX_
_A COMEDY_
_In Four Acts_
_By ARTHUR W. PINERO_
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
_MCM_
_Copyright, 1900
All rights reserved
Entered at Stationers' Hall
Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A._
_THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY_
THE MARQUESS OF QUEX
SIR CHICHESTER FRAYNE (Governor of Uumbos, West Coast of Africa)
CAPTAIN BASTLING
"VALMA," otherwise FRANK POLLITT (a Professional Palmist)
THE DUCHESS OF STROOD
JULIA, COUNTESS OF OWBRIDGE
MRS. JACK EDEN
MURIEL EDEN (her sister-in-law)
SOPHY FULLGARNEY (a Manicurist)
MISS MOON }
MISS HUDDLE } (her Assistants)
MISS CLARIDGE }
MISS LIMBIRD }
A YOUNG LADY AND OTHER PATRONS OF MISS FULLGARNEY
SERVANTS AT FAUNCEY COURT
_This Play was first acted at the Globe Theatre, London, on Saturday,
April 8, 1899_
_THE FIRST ACT_
ESTABLISHMENT OF SOPHY FULLGARNEY, MANICURIST
AND DISPENSER OF ARTICLES FOR THE TOILET,
185 NEW BOND STREET
(AFTERNOON)
_THE SECOND ACT__
AT LADY OWBRIDGE'S. THE "ITALIAN GARDEN,"
FAUNCEY COURT, RICHMOND
(EVENING)
_THE THIRD ACT_
A BOUDOIR AND BEDROOM AT FAUNCEY COURT
(NIGHT)
_THE FOURTH ACT_
IN BOND STREET AGAIN
(THE FOLLOWING DAY)
_The action of the Play is comprised within the space of twenty-four
hours_
THE GAY LORD QUEX
THE FIRST ACT
_The scene represents a manicure establishment in New Bond Street. It is
a front room upon the first floor, with three french-windows affording a
view of certain buildings on the east side of the street. On the left,
furthest from the spectator, is a wide, arched opening, apparently
leading to another apartment, in which is the door giving entrance to
the rooms from the staircase. Nearer, there is another french-window,
opening on to an expanse of "leads" and showing the exterior of the wall
of the further room above-mentioned. From the right, above the middle
window, runs an ornamental partition, about nine feet in height, with
panels of opaque glass. This partition extends more than half-way across
the room, then runs forward for some distance, turns off at a sharp
angle, and terminates between the arched opening and the window on the
left. That part of the partition running from right to left is closed on
its left side and forms, therefore, a separate room or compartment.
Facing the audience, on the right, is a door admitting to this
compartment; and, on the left, also in the, partition opposite the
windows on the right, is an opening with a looped-back 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