QUEX.
[_Looking at her._] Careful?
SOPHY.
[_Significantly._] I know how she feels to-day. If you _want_ to send
her to Hong-Kong with Captain Bastling--
[QUEX _hesitates for a moment, then crosses to_ FRAYNE, _to whom he
speaks apart._
QUEX.
Chick! how shall I act?
FRAYNE.
[_Dismally._] Dear old chap, to be quite honest with you, I was not
wholly captivated by Miss Eden when you presented me yesterday.
QUEX.
Tshah! What shall I do? wait?
FRAYNE.
In any event, of course, the man's head has to be punched. But it might
be wise to delay doing it until--
QUEX.
[_To_ SOPHY.] You spoke, a little while ago, of giving me "a chance." I
see now what was in your mind. There's a risk, then, that this good-bye
may not be final?
SOPHY.
[_Stammeringly._] W--well, I--
QUEX.
[_Sharply._] Eh?
SOPHY.
[_Breaking down._] Oh, my lord, recollect, she's not much more than a
girl!
QUEX.
No, she is not much more than a girl; but you--though you and she are of
the same age--_you_ are a woman. _You_ know your world, upstairs and
downstairs, boudoir and kitchen. Yet you own you have encouraged her in
this, made her clandestine meetings with this penniless beggar possible.
You--! you deserve to be whipped, Miss Fullgarney--whipped!
SOPHY.
[_Facing him._] Come, my lord! not so fast! After all, remember, Captain
Bastling may be poor, but he's Miss Eden's match in other ways.
QUEX.
Match?
SOPHY.
Young, and good-looking. Oh, and isn't it natural--?
QUEX.
Quite natural--quite. [_Turning to_ FRAYNE.] Chick, what an ass I've
been; what fools we old chaps are, all of us! Why, if I had led the life
of a saint, it would only be necessary for a man like this Bastling to
come along, to knock me out. Good lord, how clear it is, when it's
brought home to you in this fashion! It isn't the scamp, the roué, a
girl shies at; it's the _old_ scamp, the _old_ roué. She'll take the
young one, the blackguard with a smooth skin and a bright eye, directly
he raises a hand--take him without a murmur, money-hunter though he may
be. Take him! by Jove, she leaps into his arms!
FRAYNE.
D'ye mean that Bastling--?
QUEX.
Napier Bastling! [_Breaking into a prolonged peal of laughter._] Ha, ha,
ha, ha! Chick, he's just what _I_ was at eight-and-twenty. Ha, ha, ha!
what I was--and worse, damn him!--and she loves him.
SOPHY.
[_Who has been listening with wide-open eyes and parted lips._] It's not
true! it isn't true!
QUEX.
[_Turning to her._] Isn't it! You think so, hey? No, I suppose you
haven't experimentalised upon _him_; you haven't spied on him, and
tempted him as you tempted me. You have never got _him_ into a quiet
corner and stuck your impudent face in his. If you had--
SOPHY.
Oh! he wouldn't--!
[FRAYNE _has walked away;_ QUEX _now joins him._
QUEX.
[_As he goes._] Wouldn't he! ha, ha, ha! [_To_ FRAYNE, _fiercely._] What
the devil am I to do, Chick?
FRAYNE.
Punch his head.
SOPHY.
[_Panting._] Oh! oh! [BASTLING, _indistinctly seen through the muslin
blinds, appears at the window. He raps gently upon the window frame._
SOPHY _glances at the window._] Eh--? [_Under her breath._] Oh! [_She
goes swiftly to_ QUEX _and_ FRAYNE, _seizes them by the arms, and
pushes them towards the door in the partition, saying agitatedly._] Wait
there! don't come out, or make a noise--
QUEX.
What are you up to now?
SOPHY.
Stay here till I find out what's happened. Oh, I'll do what I can for
you!
[_They enter the private room and she closes the door. Then she returns
to the window, unfastens it, and retreats._ BASTLING _pushes open the
window and comes in._
BASTLING.
[_Advancing to her excitedly._] Ah, Sophy! [_Looking round._] Any one
about?
SOPHY.
[_Pointing to the left._] All my girls are in there. Where is she?
BASTLING.
Next door. She's sitting down, calming herself--having her cry out.
SOPHY.
Crying!
BASTLING.
She's all right--awfully happy. I told her I'd come and tell you.
SOPHY.
Tell me--!
BASTLING.
It's settled.
SOPHY.
Settled!
BASTLING.
She's mine, Sophy.
SOPHY.
[_With a gasp._] Yours!
BASTLING.
We're going to be married at once--next week. We shall need your help
still. Of course, it must be a secret marriage. She will follow me out
by-and-by.
SOPHY.
[_Nodding, dully._] Oh, yes.
BASTLING.
Why, aren't you glad about it? [_Smilingly._] Don't you congratulate us?
SOPHY.
C--certainly.
BASTLING.
Good. And--[_shaking hands with her_] thanks to _you_. [_Releasing her
hand._] Thanks.
SOPHY.
[_Nerving herself for her task._] Thanks!
BASTLING.
A million of 'em; What's the matter?
SOPHY.
Oh, nothing.
BASTLING.
Yes, there is. Come, out with it.
SOPHY.
Well--_thanks_! [_Tossing her head._] There isn't much in thanks.
BASTLING.
[_Puzzled._] Not much in thanks?
SOPHY.
[_Turning away, pouting._] _I_ think not.
BASTLING.
[_Smiling._] Oh, I know I owe a tremendous deal to the pretty
manicurist, and I don't intend to forget it. Just now I'm rather
hard-up, [_glancing towards the window_] but I shall be in funds before
long--
SOPHY.
[_Turning to him with genuine indignation._] Oh!
BASTLING.
What do you want, then?
SOPHY.
[_After a moment's hesitation, sidling up to him._] Not money.
BASTLING.
Not?
SOPHY.
A little more than plain thanks though.
BASTLING.
[_Looking into her eyes, laughing softly._] Ha, ha, ha!
SOPHY.
[_Slyly._] Ha, ha, ha!
BASTLING.
Thanks--differently expressed--? [_She plays with the lapel of his coat
and giggles. He takes her chin in his hand._] Ha, ha, ha! Sophy!
SOPHY.
Ha, ha!
[MURIEL _appears at the open window and enters the room noiselessly.
Seeing_ BASTLING _and_ SOPHY _together, she halts in surprise._
BASTLING.
[_Whose back is to the window._] I say--mind, no tales.
SOPHY.
[_Looking at_ MURIEL _steadily over_ BASTLING'S _shoulder._] Likely I'd
split on you, isn't it?
BASTLING.
Honour bright?
SOPHY.
Oh, if you've any doubt--
[_He raises her face to his and kisses her upon the lips warmly and
lingeringly. She goes back a step or two, still gazing fixedly at_
MURIEL.
BASTLING.
Eh--?
[_Following the direction of her eyes, he turns and encounters_ MURIEL.
_The three stand for a moment or two without movement._
BASTLING.
[_After the pause, speaking in a low voice, his eyes avoiding_
MURIEL'S.] Well--ha!--I suppose every man makes a big mistake at least
once in his life. I've made mine. At the same time, I--I--[_hurriedly_]
oh, I'll write.
[_With a slight, quick bow to_ MURIEL, _he wheels round sharply and goes
out._
SOPHY.
[_Wiping his kiss from her lips._] The wretch! the wretch!
[_The door-gong sounds._
MURIEL.
[_Covering her eyes with her hand and uttering a low moan._] Oh--!
SOPHY.
[_Hanging her head._] You see, darling, yesterday at Fauncey Court, I--I
tried it on with Lord Quex, and he behaved like a gentleman. So the
notion struck me that I'd treat the young man in the same way, just to
see what _he_ was made of, and--well, I'm glad you came in. You might
never have believed me.
MURIEL.
[_In a hard voice._] The shirt-stud--the stuff I wrote--I left them with
you--
SOPHY.
[_Producing them._] I found them after you'd gone.
[MURIEL _takes the piece of paper and tears it into small pieces._ SOPHY
_offers her the jeweller's case._
MURIEL.
[_Haughtily._] Take that back to Gressier's this afternoon, please, and
tell them I've changed my mind. Say I'll have a little silver collar for
my dog, in its place.
[_She sinks into the screen-chair, with her eyes closed. Slipping the
case into her pocket,_ SOPHY _tip-toes up to the door in the partition;
she opens it and beckons to_ QUEX, _who appears with_ FRAYNE.
SOPHY.
[_To_ QUEX, _in a whisper._] Phsst! It's all nicely settled. She's said
good-bye to him for good. What a fuss you made about nothing!
[_She points to the screen-chair; he approaches_ MURIEL. SOPHY _and_
FRAYNE _talk together._
QUEX.
[_Softly._] Muriel--
MURIEL.
[_Opening her eyes, startled._] Quex!
QUEX.
[_Brightly._] I came up to town this morning with Sir Chichester. We've
just met aunt Julia, and the rest of 'em, in Sackville Street. Mrs.
Jack clamours for lunch at Prince's. What do you say?
MURIEL.
[_Passing her hand across her eyes._] Thanks. It'll be jolly.
QUEX.
[_Gaily._] Ah!
MURIEL.
[_Laying her hand upon his sleeve._] Quex--
QUEX.
Eh?
MURIEL.
[_Rising, and speaking in a low, appealing voice._] Give me your word
you have been loyal to me, down to your very thought, since our
engagement.
QUEX.
[_Earnestly._] Muriel, I--
MURIEL.
Hush! [_Giving him her hand._] I believe you. [_The door-gong sounds._]
And, look here! I haven't been quite fair, or generous, to you, I am
afraid. But I am going to be different--
QUEX.
After to-day!
MURIEL.
From this moment. Harry--
QUEX.
Hey?
MURIEL.
I won't keep you till the end of the year. Marry me, and have done with
it, directly the Season is over, and take me away.
QUEX.
[_Bending over her hand._] Good heavens--! [MISS LIMBIRD _holds the_
portière _aside and admits_ LADY OWBRIDGE, _the_ DUCHESS OF STROOD,
_and_ MRS. EDEN. MISS LIMBIRD _then returns to her desk._ QUEX _goes to_
LADY OWBRIDGE, _takes her arm, and leads her forward._] Aunt Julia!
aunt! my dear aunt Julia!
[_The_ DUCHESS _joins_ FRAYNE. MRS. EDEN _comes to_ MURIEL _and receives
the news of the hastened marriage._ SOPHY _moves away to the window._
QUEX.
[_Excitedly, to_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Oh, my dear aunt!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
What ails you, Henry?
QUEX.
Muriel! she--she--she's going to marry me!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
I hope so.
QUEX.
But at the end of the Season! a month hence! a month, a month, a month!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
My dear boy! Heaven prosper your union! Muriel--
MRS. EDEN.
[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Isn't this glorious news, Lady Owbridge? But I
always thought it unwise to protract the engagement. You never know
_what_ may happen, do you? I must tell the dear Duchess--
[_She joins the_ DUCHESS _and_ FRAYNE, _and chatters to them._
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_To_ MURIEL, _in a low voice._] Muriel, you are right. In this life, if
you have anything to pardon, pardon quickly. Slow forgiveness is little
better than no forgiveness.
MRS. EDEN.
[_Coming to_ QUEX.] Congratulate you.
QUEX.
Thanks.
[LADY OWBRIDGE _moves away, joining the_ DUCHESS, _as_ MRS. EDEN
_returns to_ MURIEL.
MRS. EDEN.
[_Kissing_ MURIEL.] You sensible girl!
[FRAYNE _comes to_ QUEX.
FRAYNE.
[_To_ QUEX, _mournfully._] Old chap, this is shockingly sudden.
QUEX.
Ha, ha!
FRAYNE.
However, we must contrive, you and I, to pass one more evening together
before the event.
QUEX.
One! many!
FRAYNE.
No, no, I mean a buster, Harry; a regular night of it--
QUEX.
Good lord! go away!
[MRS. EDEN _joins_ LADY OWBRIDGE _as_ FRAYNE _advances to_ MURIEL.
FRAYNE.
[_Taking_ MURIEL'S _hand._] Dear young lady, you are about to become the
wife of one of the best. There are not many of us left; we are a
dwindling band, Miss Eden--
[_The_ DUCHESS _comes to_ QUEX.
DUCHESS.
[_To_ QUEX, _softly._] Sincere congratulations. [_He bows stiffly._] At
any time, you know, when you return to England--
QUEX.
[_Eyeing her sternly._] Yes?
DUCHESS.
After your honeymoon--
QUEX.
Yes?
DUCHESS.
Should you feel _ennuyé_--
QUEX.
I!
DUCHESS.
The air at Burwarton never failed to exhilarate you. So pray do not
forget--
QUEX.
[_Indignantly._] Duchess!
DUCHESS.
[_Sweetly._] That poor dear Strood would be pleased to see you. [FRAYNE
_joins_ LADY OWBRIDGE _and_ MRS. EDEN _as the_ DUCHESS _advances to_
MURIEL.] Dear Miss Eden, may your married life be as beautiful, as
serene, as my own!
MURIEL.
[_Frankly._] Thank you, Duchess.
LADY OWBRIDGE.
We shall be a happy party at luncheon. Shall we go, Duchess?
Muriel--Henry--[QUEX _joins_ MURIEL. SOPHY _is eyeing_ MURIEL
_wistfully._ MISS LIMBIRD _holds the_ portière _aside, to allow the
visitors to pass out._] Good morning, Miss Fullgarney.
SOPHY.
Good morning, my lady.
DUCHESS.
Miss Fullgarney--
SOPHY.
Good-bye, your Grace.
[_The_ DUCHESS _and_ LADY OWBRIDGE _go out._
FRAYNE.
[_Following them with_ MRS. EDEN.] Good-day, Miss Fullgarney.
SOPHY.
Good-day, sir.
MRS. EDEN.
Morning, Sophy.
SOPHY.
Morning, Mrs. Eden.
[FRAYNE _and_ MRS. EDEN _go out._
QUEX.
[_Following them with_ MURIEL.] Good morning, Miss Fullgarney.
SOPHY.
[_Blankly._] G--good morning, my lord. [QUEX _and_ MURIEL _go out,
followed by_ MISS LIMBIRD. SOPHY _stands aghast, her bosom heaving._]
Oh! oh! oh! [_The door-gong sounds._ POLLITT _appears at the window._
SOPHY _is wringing her hands._] Oh--!
POLLITT.
[_Entering._] My love! what's the matter?
SOPHY.
She--she's left me, without a word!
POLLITT.
She?
SOPHY.
Muriel--without so much as wishing me good-morning. [_With a sob._] Oh!
when I've done what I can for everybody!
[_The_ portière _is pulled aside and_ MURIEL _returns, unaccompanied,
and comes to_ SOPHY'S _side swiftly._
MURIEL.
[_To_ SOPHY.] Forgive me. You did it for the best. [_Kissing her._] I'm
sorry--
SOPHY.
[_Throwing her arms round_ MURIEL'S _neck._] Oh! my darling--! [MURIEL
_runs out._ SOPHY _goes to_ POLLITT _and drops her head upon his breast,
restfully._] Ah! _that's_ all right.
[_The door-gong sounds finally._
THE END.
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London & Edinburgh