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.
I hope I haven't taken too great a liberty--
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_Looking round._] I don't see him.
SOPHY.
He has run back to the station. I've just found out I left my bag in
the fly that brought us here. So stupid of me!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
Mrs. Gregory will give you, both, dinner.
SOPHY.
Thank you, my lady.
[_The_ DUCHESS _is now seated in the garden-chair. The younger of the
two servants enters, carrying_ SOPHY'S _bag and the evening papers._
SERVANT.
[_Handing the bag to_ SOPHY.] The cabman has brought your bag back,
miss.
SOPHY.
There now! Much obliged. [_To_ MRS. EDEN.] Poor Mr. Valma will have his
tramp for nothing, won't he?
[SOPHY _and_ MRS. EDEN _talk together._
LADY OWBRIDGE.
The evening papers, Morgan?
SERVANT.
[_Who has laid the papers upon the table._] Yes, my lady.
[_The_ SERVANT _retires._
LADY OWBRIDGE.
So late? we must go in and dress.
DUCHESS.
[_Who has been occupied in observing_ QUEX.] I'll follow you, dear Lady
Owbridge.
[LADY OWBRIDGE _moves away and is joined by_ MRS. EDEN.
MRS. EDEN.
[_As she ascends the steps with_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Sophy, I shall be ready
for you in a quarter of an hour.
SOPHY.
All right, Mrs. Eden.
[LADY OWBRIDGE _and_ MRS. EDEN _disappear._
MURIEL.
[_Crossing to_ SOPHY.] Wouldn't you like to walk to the gates to meet
Mr. Valma?
SOPHY.
Thanks, dear, I think I would.
MURIEL.
I can show you a nearer way than by going back to the house. [_Pointing
into the distance._] Follow this hedge and take the second alley--not
the first--on your left. When you reach the big fountain--
[QUEX, _still dipping into the sermons, has come down to the back of the
table. He now throws the book upon the table and picks up a newspaper._
QUEX.
I beg your pardon, Duchess--I didn't see you.
DUCHESS.
[_In a whisper._] Harry--
QUEX.
[_Startled._] Eh?
DUCHESS.
I will hurry into my gown and return. Be here in a quarter of an hour.
QUEX.
May I ask--the reason?
DUCHESS.
[_A newspaper in her hand--talking to him, in undertones, over the top
of it._] For a week, only the merest commonplaces have passed between
us. I must relieve my heart; it is bursting!
QUEX.
I entreat you to consider my position.
DUCHESS.
Yours! have _I_ no reputation to endanger? [_Rising--laying the paper
aside._] What a pitiably small request! you will grant it?
QUEX.
If you could see your way to excuse me--
DUCHESS.
In memory of the past--! I demand it!
QUEX.
[_With a stiff bow._] Oh--oh, certainly.
DUCHESS.
[_Leaving him._] Thank you.
QUEX.
[_To himself._] Damn!
[_He turns on his heel and walks away._
DUCHESS.
[_Joining_ MURIEL.] You are coming to dress?
MURIEL.
[_After smiling assent, presenting_ SOPHY.] Miss Fullgarney was my first
playmate, Duchess.
DUCHESS.
[_Looking upon_ SOPHY _graciously._] Ah? [_To_ MURIEL.] The souvenirs of
childhood are sweet, are they not?
[_She slips her arm through_ MURIEL'S, _and they ascend the steps and go
away together._ SOPHY _comes to the stone bench on the left, upon which
she deposits her bag. She opens the bag, produces a little mirror and a
comb, and puts her "fringe" in order--humming as she does so an air from
the latest comic opera. Then she returns the comb and mirror to the bag
and--bag in hand--prepares to depart. While this is going on_ QUEX
_returns, above the low hedge. He ascends the steps and looks off into
the distance, watching the retreating figure of the_ DUCHESS. _After a
moment or two he shrugs his shoulders in a perplexed, troubled way,
and, coming down the steps, encounters_ SOPHY.
SOPHY.
[_Innocently._] Lovely evening, my lord.
QUEX.
[_Passing her, with a nod and a smile._] Very--very.
[_At the table, he exchanges the newspaper he carries for another. She
is going in the direction indicated by_ MURIEL. _Suddenly she pauses,
above the dwarf cypress-hedge, and stands looking at_ QUEX _with an
expression in which fear and determination are mingled. Having selected
his newspaper,_ QUEX _crosses to the left and sits, reading._
SOPHY.
[_Coming to him._] I don't think I shall go, after all.
QUEX.
[_Lowering his paper._] Eh?
SOPHY.
I was just starting off down to the gates, you know, to meet Mr. Valma.
QUEX.
[_With amiable indifference._] Oh?
SOPHY.
[_Her head upon one side, smiling._] But it's too hot for walking, isn't
it?
QUEX.
[_Resuming his reading._] It is warm.
SOPHY.
[_Putting her bag upon the table and removing her gloves._] Phew!
[_She eyes him askance, undecided, as to a plan of action. He lowers his
paper again, disconcerting her._
QUEX.
You don't feel you _ought_ to go and meet your--Mr. Valma?
SOPHY.
[_Edging towards him._] I might miss him--mightn't I?
QUEX.
Certainly--you might.
SOPHY.
Besides, it wouldn't do for me to attend upon Mrs. Jack--Mrs. Eden--all
puffing and towzelled; [_archly_] now, would it?
QUEX.
[_Resuming his reading._] You're the best judge.
SOPHY.
So I've a quarter of an hour to fill in somehow. [_A pause._] I've a
quarter of an hour to fill in somehow.
QUEX.
[_Behind his paper, beginning to be extremely bored._] Indeed?
SOPHY.
[_Quaking._] I--I wish there were some quiet little shady places to
ramble about in, here at Fauncey Court.
QUEX.
There are several.
SOPHY.
Are there?... are there?
QUEX.
[_Turning his paper._] Oh, yes, a great many.
SOPHY.
You see, I'm a stranger--
QUEX.
[_Kindly._] Well, you run along; you'll find 'em. [_She walks away
slowly, baffled. He glances at her over his paper, slightly puzzled._]
Have you seen the grotto?
SOPHY.
[_Turning sharply._] No.
QUEX.
[_Pointing towards the right._] It's in that direction.
SOPHY.
Grotto? Dark, I suppose, and lonelyish?
QUEX.
You said you desired shade and quiet.
SOPHY.
Yes, but not darkness. Fancy me in a grotto all by myself ... by
myself...!
QUEX.
[_Behind his paper again._] I'm afraid I have no further suggestion to
offer.
[_There is another pause; then her face lights up, and she comes down to
him swiftly._
SOPHY.
[_Close to him._] Show me your nails, my lord.
QUEX.
[_Lowering his paper._] My nails?
SOPHY.
[_Taking his hand and examining it._] Excuse me. Oh, my lord, for shame!
QUEX.
You take exception to them?
SOPHY.
This is hacking, not cutting. You ought never to be allowed within a
mile of a pair of scissors.
QUEX.
[_Looking at his other hand._] Oh, come! they're hardly as bad as all
that.
SOPHY
[_Examining that hand also._] Ha, ha, ha!
QUEX.
[_Rising, somewhat abashed._] Ha! I confess I am a little unskilful at
such operations.
SOPHY.
No gentleman should trust to himself where his nails are concerned. Why,
a man's hand has lost him a young lady's affections before this! I've
heard of heaps of cases where matches have been broken off--
QUEX.
[_Putting his hands behind him, smiling._] Really? the results of
manicure are more far-reaching than I had imagined.
SOPHY.
You, see, my lord, when a man's courting he is free to look his young
lady in the face for as long as he chooses; it's considered proper and
attentive. But the girl is expected to drop _her_ eyes, and then--what
has _she_ to look at? Why, a well-trimmed hand or an ugly one. [_Taking
off her rings._] Now then, I'll do wonders for you in ten minutes.
QUEX.
Thank you; I am not going indoors just yet.
SOPHY.
No need to go indoors. [_Depositing her rings upon the table and opening
her bag._] I've got my bag here, with all my tools--see!
QUEX.
Ah, but I won't trouble you this evening. Another occasion--
SOPHY.
[_Arranging her manicure instruments, &c., upon the table._] No trouble
at all, my lord--quite an honour. [_Indicating the stone bench._] Please
sit down there. [_Producing a little brass bowl._] Water--?
[_She runs to the fountain and fills her bowl from its basin._
QUEX.
[_Crossing, hesitatingly, to the right--looking at his nails and
speaking in a formal manner._] You have been bidden to Fauncey Court for
rest and relaxation, Miss Fullgarney; it is most obliging of you to
allow your pleasure to be disturbed in this way.
SOPHY.
[_Returning to him._] Oh, don't say that, my lord. [_Putting the bowl on
the table and dragging the garden-chair forward to face him._] Business
_is_ a pleasure, sometimes.
[_Her close proximity to him forces him back upon the bench._
QUEX.
[_Seated--stiffly._] You must, at least, let me open an account at your
excellent establishment.
SOPHY.
Not I. [_Seated--taking his right hand._] One may work occasionally for
love, I should hope? [_archly_] ha, ha! just for love, eh?
QUEX
[_Uncomfortably._] No, no, I couldn't permit it--I couldn't permit it.
SOPHY.
[_Holding his hand almost caressingly._] Well, well! we'll see--we'll
see. [_She clips his nails briskly and methodically. While she does so
she again hums a song, looking up at him at intervals enticingly, under
her lashes. Breaking off in her song._] My goodness! what a smooth,
young hand you have!
QUEX.
[_His discomfort increasing._] Er--indeed?
SOPHY.
Many a man of six-and-twenty would be glad to own such hands, I can tell
you. [_Patting his hand reprovingly._] Keep still! [_It is now his turn
to hum a song, which he does, under his breath, to disguise his
embarrassment. She looks up at him._] But then, you're an awfully young
man for your age, in every way, aren't you?
QUEX.
[_Gazing at the sky._] Oh, I don't know about that.
SOPHY.
[_Slyly._] You _do_ know. [_Wagging her head at him._] You _do_ know.
QUEX.
[_Relaxing slightly._] It may be so, of course, without one's being
conscious of it.
SOPHY.
_May_ be so! ah, ha! not conscious of it! ho! [_Slapping his hand again,
soundly._] Artful!
QUEX.
[_Flattered and amused._] No, no, I assure you! ha, ha!
[_They laugh together. His constraint gradually diminishes. After
shaking some liquid soap from a bottle into the bowl, she places the
bowl beside him on the bench._
SOPHY.
[_While doing this._] My young ladies at a-hundred-and-eighty-five all
agree with me about you.
QUEX.
Do they?
SOPHY.
Yes, do they!
QUEX.
Your young ladies?
SOPHY.
My girls.
QUEX.
Ha, ha, ha! And what terrible pronouncement has
a-hundred-and-eighty-five to pass upon me?
SOPHY.
Seven-and-thirty, _you_ look--not a day older; that's what _we_ say.
There, dip your fingers in that, do!
QUEX.
Into this?
SOPHY.
[_Thrusting his fingers into the bowl._] Baby! [_The water splashes over
her dress and his coat._] Oh!
QUEX.
I beg your pardon.
SOPHY.
Now what have you done? [_Wiping the water from his coat._] You clumsy
boy!
QUEX.
Thanks, thanks.
[_She commences operations upon his left hand. He is now thoroughly
entertained by her freedom and audacity._
SOPHY.
Ha, ha! do you know what _I_ maintain?
QUEX.
[_Laughing._] Upon my word, I dread to think.
SOPHY.
Why, that every man who looks younger than his years should be watched
by the police.
QUEX.
Good heavens, Sophy--Miss Fullgarney!
SOPHY.
Yes--as a dangerous person.
QUEX.
Dangerous! ho, come!
SOPHY.
[_With the suggestion of a wink._] Dangerous. The man who is younger
than he ought to be is always no better than he should be.
QUEX.
Ha, ha, ha!
SOPHY.
Am I right? am I right, eh? [_Putting her cheek near his lips--speaking
in a low voice, breathlessly, her eyes averted._] Tell me whether I'm
right, my lord.
[_For the first time, a suspicion of her designs crosses his mind. He
draws back slowly, eyeing her. There is a pause._
QUEX.
[_In an altered tone, but keeping her in play._] Ha, ha, ha, ha!
[_Looking at his watch._] I--I am afraid I shall have to run away to
dress for dinner very soon.
SOPHY.
[_Resuming her work, disappointed._] Not yet; you've plenty of time. But
there, dangerous or not dangerous, in my heart I can't help holding with
what my lady-customers are continually saying.
QUEX.
[_Watching her keenly._] No? and what are your lady-customers
continually saying?
SOPHY.
Why, that the young fellows of the day are such conceited, apish
creatures; no man under forty-five is worth wasting a minute's time
over.
QUEX.
Ho! they say that, your lady-customers?
SOPHY.
Yes; and they're good judges, they are.
QUEX.
Good judges! none better--none better.
SOPHY.
[_Laying her clipper aside suddenly, and putting her hand to her eyes
with a cry of pain._] Oh!
QUEX.
[_Coolly._] What's the matter?
SOPHY.
[_Rising._] A little splinter has flown into my eye It often happens.
QUEX.
[_Rising._] Extremely painful, I expect?
SOPHY.
[_Producing her handkerchief._] Very. [_Giving him her handkerchief._]
Do you think you could find it?
QUEX.
Certainly, if it's to be found.
SOPHY.
[_Holding the lapels of his coat, her head almost upon his shoulder, her
eyes closed._] Ah! please make haste and look for it!
QUEX.
Right or left?
SOPHY.
The ri--the left.
QUEX.
[_Sharply._] Raise your head. Stand up.
SOPHY.
[_Releasing his coat and raising her head._] Eh?
QUEX.
[_Sternly._] Open your eyes. Both of them. [_She opens her eyes and
stares at him. He returns her handkerchief._] There! I have removed the
splinter. [_She slowly backs away like a whipped child. He follows
her._] Miss Fullgarney, I understand you are engaged to be married--to
this young man, Valma?
SOPHY.
[_Tremblingly._] Yes, my lord.
QUEX.
Do you care for him?
SOPHY.
[_Faintly._] Yes.
QUEX.
In love with him?
SOPHY.
Oh, yes, my lord, indeed.
QUEX.
And yet you still flirt?
SOPHY.
Y--es.
QUEX.
Take my advice--be satisfied with the kisses your sweetheart gives you.
Don't try to get them from other men, old or young.
SOPHY.
No--no--
QUEX.
[_Sternly, but kindly._] You little fool!
POLLITT _enters, wearing a tall hat and lemon-coloured gloves._
POLLITT.
[_Jealously._] Sophy!
[QUEX _walks away._
SOPHY.
[_Falteringly._] The fly-man brought back the bag, Valma dear.
POLLITT.
I am aware of that. [_Lowering his voice._] What are you doing here with
Lord Quex?
SOPHY.
I--I've been manicuring him.
_The_ YOUNGER SERVANT _comes down the steps._
SERVANT.
[_To_ SOPHY.] Mrs. Eden is quite ready for you, miss.
[_She hurriedly replaces her manicure instruments, &c., in the bag,
hands the bowl to the_ SERVANT, _and, without looking at_ POLLITT _or_
QUEX, _goes swiftly up the steps and disappears. The_ SERVANT _follows
her, carrying the bowl._
POLLITT.
[_To_ QUEX.] Excuse me, my lord--
QUEX.
[_Coming forward, and picking up his newspaper._] Eh?
POLLITT.
That young lady and I are engaged to be married.
QUEX.
Mr.--Valma?
POLLITT.
Yes, my lord. [_Hotly._] And I very much object to her manicuring
gentlemen.
QUEX.
[_Dryly._] Well, there you have a little something to discuss at
home--before, and, perhaps, after marriage.
POLLITT.
I consider the custom of ladies manicuring gentlemen one that may
occasionally lead to undue familiarity, my lord.
QUEX.
I am inclined to agree with you, sir.
POLLITT.
And I shall do all I can to persuade Miss Fullgarney to relinquish
active participation in the business.
QUEX.
The palmistry profession is a flourishing one at present, eh, Mr. Valma?
POLLITT.
[_Loftily._] My engagement-book is always full. I have disappointed
several ladies by coming here this afternoon.
QUEX.
Poor women! Nevertheless, pray be careful how you slight the manicure
trade. Crazes die, you know--nails grow.
POLLITT.
[_Tapping his breast._] I think _we_ have come to stay, my lord.
QUEX.
[_Lightly._] Well, you're sailing pretty close to the wind, remember,
you fellows.
POLLITT.
My lord!
QUEX.
[_Replacing his newspaper upon the table._] And if some day you should
find yourselves in the police-court, alongside a poor old woman whose
hand has been crossed with a threepenny-bit down an area--
_The_ DUCHESS _appears on the further side of the low cypress-hedge. She
is dressed for dinner. The sky is now faintly rosy, and during the
ensuing scene it deepens into a rich sunset._
QUEX.
We are going to have a flaming sunset, Duchess.
DUCHESS.
Superb.
POLLITT.
[_Haughtily._] I wish you good evening, my lord.
QUEX.
Oh, good evening, Mr. Valma. [_To himself._] Impudent beggar!
[POLLITT _walks away. After watching his going, the_ DUCHESS _comes
eagerly forward._
DUCHESS.
[_Her hand upon her heart._] Oh! I am here, Harry!
QUEX.
[_In delicate protest._] Ah, my dear Duchess!
DUCHESS.
Fortunately I have been able to dress quickly without exciting
curiosity. My maid was summoned away this afternoon, to her father who
is sick. [_Sinking on to the bench._] Still, these risks are
considerable enough.
QUEX.
And yet you deliberately court them!
DUCHESS.
Great passions involve great dangers. The history of the world shows
that.
QUEX.
But why now--now that circumstances are altered between us? why, on
earth, do you play these hazardous tricks now?
DUCHESS.
I was determined to meet, to know, the girl with whom you are about to
_ranger_ yourself, Harry.
QUEX.
Even that could have been arrived at in some safer way.
DUCHESS.
Ah, but you fail to see; it was the daring of this proceeding that
attracted me--the romance of it!
QUEX.
[_Raising his hands._] Romance! still!
DUCHESS.
Always. It is the very blood in my veins. It keeps me young. I shall die
a romantic girl, however old I may be.
QUEX.
You ought, you really ought, to have flourished in the Middle Ages.
DUCHESS.