The Fourth Act
The scene is the same, in every respect, as that of the First Act.
[On the right Miss Claridge is manicuring a young gentleman. On the left Miss Moon is putting her manicure-table in order, as if she has recently disposed of a customer. Miss Limbird is again at her desk, busy over accounts. The door-gong sounds and, after a short interval, Quex and Frayne enter, preceded by Miss Huddle. Frayne appears particularly depressed and unwell.
Quex.
[Nodding to Miss Limbird.] Good morning.
Miss Limbird.
Morning.
Quex.
[To Miss Huddle.] Miss Fullgarney has not yet arrived, you say?
Miss Huddle.
Not yet.
Quex.
[Looking at his watch.] Twenty minutes to twelve.
Miss Moon.
Yes, we’ve never known Miss Fullgarney to be so late at her business. I do hope she hasn’t been run over and injured.
Miss Huddle.
Or murdered by tramps.
Quex.
My dear young lady!
Miss Moon.
Well, one does read such things in the ha’penny papers.
Miss Huddle.
And she went down to Richmond yesterday afternoon, you know—to Fauncey Court.
Quex.
Of course I know—and slept there.
Miss Moon.
Oh, did she?
Quex.
And has come up to town this morning.
Miss Huddle.
Then she’ll have gone home, I expect, to change.
Miss Moon.
That’s what she’s done. [Slightly disappointed.] Well, I should have been sorry if anything had happened to her.
Quex.
Naturally.
Miss Huddle.
So should I, though I’m quite new here.
Miss Moon.
It never gives me any pleasure to hear of people having their limbs crushed.
Miss Huddle.
Or being murdered by tramps.
Miss Moon.
Won’t your lordship take a chair? [To Frayne, who has wandered down to the window.] And you, sir?
[The young gentleman, his manicuring being finished, has risen, paid Miss Limbird and departed, followed by Miss Claridge carrying her bowl and towel. The door-gong sounds.
Quex.
Is that she?
Miss Moon.
No; that young gentleman leaving.
[Miss Moon, carrying her bowl and towel, and Miss Huddle, after exchanging a few words with Miss Limbird, withdraw.
Frayne.
[To Quex, biliously.] How revoltingly hideous these gals look this morning!
Quex.
Same as yesterday. You’re seedy.
Frayne.
[Closing his eyes.] Oh, shockingly seedy. [Sitting.] I’m in for a go of malaria, I fear.
Quex.
Shame of me to have routed you out of bed and bothered you with my affairs. [Sitting.] But you can quite understand, Chick, how confoundedly anxious I am as to the attitude Miss Fullgarney will adopt towards me to-day.
Frayne.
Quite, quite. Harry—
Quex.
Yes?
Frayne.
What champagne was it we drank last night at Richmond?
Quex.
[With some bitterness.] Ha! Félix Poubelle, Carte d’Or.
Frayne.
[Shaking his head.] I can’t take champagne.
Quex.
Can’t you!
Frayne.
I mean I oughtn’t to.
Quex.
Oh. [Referring to his watch again.] I’ve given you a pretty minute account of last night’s tragedy, Chick. “I’ll do what I can for you”—those were the Fullgarney’s words. Good lord, they came at me like a bolt from the blue! Does she intend to act up to them, eh?—that’s the question. Surely she’ll act up to them, Chick?
Frayne.
Have you met the ladies this morning?
Quex.
Yes—except Muriel, who didn’t show at breakfast.
Frayne.
How did you find ’em?
Quex.
Amiability itself; they know nothing. [Rising and looking down upon Frayne.] You see, Chick, all that Miss Fullgarney has to do—if she hasn’t already done it—is to tell a trifling taradiddle to Muriel concerning the events of last night. Well, in effect, she has promised to do that, hasn’t she? [Impatiently.] Eh?
Frayne.
[Gloomily.] Frankly, Harry, I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if the jade sold you.
Quex.
[His jaw falling.] You wouldn’t?
Frayne.
No.
Quex.
Phew! I should. [Warmly.] By Jove, I should!
Frayne.
I have conceived a great aversion to her—a long, scraggy gal.
Quex.
[With enthusiasm.] As full of courage as a thoroughbred!
Frayne.
[Closing his eyes.] I can picture her elbows; sharp, pointed elbows—the barbed fence of the spiteful woman.
Quex.
Pooh! yesterday she was alluring.
Frayne.
[Rising painfully.] Yesterday—! [Gravely.] Harry, do you know there are moments when I feel that I am changing towards the sex; when I fancy I can discern the skeleton, as it were, through the rounded cheek?
Quex.
You!
Frayne.
Yes, this novel sentiment is undoubtedly gaining possession of your old friend—gradually, perhaps, but surely.
Quex.
[Regarding him searchingly.] Excuse me, Chick—did you turn into the Beefsteak when you got back from Richmond last night?
Frayne.
For an hour. Oh, a great mistake.
Quex.
What, a little whisky on the top of champagne?
Frayne.
[Gazing pathetically at Quex with watery eyes.] A good deal of champagne underneath a lot of whisky.
[The door-gong sounds.
Quex.
Who’s this? [He walks to the entrance, and looks into the further room.] The Fullgarney.
[He returns to his former position, as Sophy enters quickly followed by Miss Claridge, Miss Moon, and Miss Huddle. Sophy—dressed as at the end of the First Act—is pale, red-eyed, and generally unstrung. She comes to Quex, disconcerted by his presence.
Sophy.
[Confronting him.] Oh, good morning.
Quex.
May I beg a few moments—?
Sophy.
Er—certainly. I’ll just take off my things—
[He joins Frayne. She goes across the room where she is surrounded by her girls.]
Miss Claridge.
Oh, Miss Fullgarney, how ill you look!
Miss Moon.
You do seem queer!
Miss Huddle.
Just as if you were sickening for something.
Miss Limbird.
[Coming between Miss Claridge and Sophy.] Quite ghostly!
Sophy.
I’m all right, girls; I’ve had a bad night, that’s all. [Giving her umbrella to Miss Claridge and her bag to Miss Moon, who passes it to Miss Huddle.] Here! hi! take that beastly bag. [To Miss Limbird, who is removing her hat.] Oh, don’t waggle my head, whatever you do! [To Miss Moon, who is pulling at her jacket.] Tear the thing off. [Stripping off her gloves, and speaking in a whisper.] Girls, I don’t want to be disturbed for five minutes.
Miss Limbird.
Very well, Miss Fullgarney.
Sophy.
[Glancing at Quex and Frayne, who are now looking out of the window, with their backs towards her.] If Miss Eden should happen to turn up before I’m free, just mention who I’m engaged with, will you?
Miss Moon.
Yes, Miss Fullgarney.
Sophy.
That’ll do. [With sudden fierceness.] What are you all staring at? Haven’t any of you ever slept in a strange bed?
[The girls retreat hastily, each carrying an article belonging to Sophy.
Quex.
[Advancing a step or two.] I am exceedingly sorry to see you looking so fatigued.
Sophy.
[Faintly.] Didn’t close my eyes the whole night. [She drops the portière over the entrance, and approaches Quex.] Well, my lord?
Quex.
I have ventured to call upon you, Miss Fullgarney, in the hope of ratifying the excellent understanding with which we parted last night.
Sophy.
[Pointing to Frayne.] Well, but—er—
Quex.
Oh—oh, yes— [To Frayne, who has turned away.] Frayne— [To Sophy.] I have taken my old and trusted friend, Sir Chichester Frayne, into my confidence in this regrettable business.
Sophy.
[Dubiously.] Indeed?
Quex.
I thought it desirable there should be a third party—
Sophy.
P’r’aps you’re right. [Cuttingly.] One needs a third party when one has the honour of meeting your lordship—[Checking herself.] Excuse me.
Quex.
[Pleasantly, with a slight bow of acknowledgment.] Before we go further, I may tell you that her Grace has informed me of what passed between you this morning.
Sophy.
Nothing passed.
Quex.
Precisely.
Sophy.
The lady beamed upon me, for all the world as if she was an angel spending a Saturday-to-Monday here below; and I dressed her hair for her just as if I didn’t want to tear it out by the roots. And then she turned up her eyes and said she hoped every happiness would attend me, and went downstairs to prayers.
Quex.
Will you allow me to—to thank you?
Sophy.
[Frigidly.] You needn’t. [Abruptly.] Oh, by-the-by, the lady gave me a—a keepsake, she called it. [Endeavouring to extract some bulky object from her pocket.] I mean to burn the thing, once I’ve found out what’s inside it. But I can’t get it open. Here it is.
[She exhibits the little box, covered with brocade, which Quex has returned to the Duchess in the previous Act.
Quex.
[Surprised.] By Jove!
Sophy.
[Simply.] Eh?
Quex.
Er—I was wondering what she can have put in that little box.
Sophy.
Yes, I wonder. [Pulling at the lid.] It’s locked.
Quex.
I fancy it has one of those Bramah locks which snap. I may have a key— [He produces his key-ring and, promptly selecting a key, unlocks the box.] Fortunate coincidence.
[She opens the box and takes out the first thing that presents itself—the blue silk garter with the diamond buckle.
Sophy.
[Scandalised.] Oh, my gracious! I beg your pardon.
[She leaves him hurriedly and hides the box in the cabinet.
Quex.
[Quietly to Frayne.] Chick, she has passed the souvenirs on to Miss Fullgarney!
Frayne.
[Bitterly.] How like a woman!
Quex.
Some women.
Frayne.
[In disgust.] Pah!
Quex.
Yesterday she was alluring.
Frayne.
[Waving the past from him.] Yesterday—[with a slight hiccup] hic! [Turning away apologetically.] The heat in this room—
[He walks away, as Sophy returns to Quex.
Quex.
[To Sophy.] Well, I must not detain you longer, Miss Fullgarney. But there is, of course, one point upon which I should like to feel completely assured. You have seen Miss Eden—?
Sophy.
No; not since last evening.
Quex.
[Anxiously.] When do you—?
Sophy.
[Looking away.] I’m rather expecting her to pop in here during the day.
Quex.
Quite so. And—and then—?
Sophy.
[Facing him candidly.] Your lordship told me last night that your little visit to the Duchess was a perfectly innocent one?
Quex.
Absolutely innocent. [Hesitatingly.] I fear I cannot go further than that.
Frayne.
[Fanning himself with his handkerchief.] By gad, why not, Harry? We are in Miss Fullgarney’s hands. [To Sophy.] His lordship went to her Grace’s apartment solely to return some gifts which he had accepted from her in the—ah—dim, distant past, and to say adieu.
Sophy.
[Witheringly.] Ah, I knew she was a double-faced thing; [looking at Quex relentingly] but p’r’aps one has been a little down on you.
Quex.
[Meekly.] You have it in your power to atone for that amply.
Sophy.
[Half-feelingly, half-sullenly.] At any rate, you behaved, in the end, like a gentleman to me last night. And so—when I see Miss Muriel—
Quex.
Yes?
Sophy.
[Deliberately.] I am going to tell her a lie.
Quex.
[With some emotion.] Miss Fullgarney, I—I—
Sophy.
Oh, I said I’d do what I can for you. [Uncomfortably.] And this is all I can do.
Quex.
[Light-heartedly.] All!
Sophy.
Just to give you a chance.
Quex.
Chance! [Drawing a deep breath.] You place my happiness beyond danger.
Sophy.
[Impulsively, offering him her hand.] I wish you luck, my lord.
[He takes her hand and wrings it.
Frayne.
[Who has opened the window for air.] Hallo!
Sophy.
[Turning nervously.] What—?
Frayne.
[Looking out.] Isn’t this your friend, Captain Bastling?
Quex.
Bastling?
Frayne.
At that window?
[Frayne moves away to the circular table and sniffs at a bottle of scent. Quex goes to the window.
Quex.
[Looking out.] Yes. What’s old Napier up to there?
Sophy.
[Guiltily.] I—I heard Captain Bastling mention that he was thinking of having his hand read by Mr. Valma some time or other.
Quex.
No! ha, ha, ha! [Leaving the window.] He doesn’t see me; I won’t disturb him. [To Sophy, jocularly.] A convenient arrangement—it is possible to transfer oneself from the manicurist to the palmist without the trouble of putting on one’s gloves.
Sophy.
Ha, ha! y—yes.
Quex.
[Pausing on his way to the entrance.] Miss Fullgarney, may I ask if you and Mr. Valma have fixed upon the date of your marriage?
Sophy.
Oh, we sha’n’t get married yet awhile—not for a year or more, I fancy.
Quex.
[Graciously.] In that case, I shall hope to have the pleasure, and the privilege, of being present at your wedding—with my wife.
Sophy.
[Hanging her head.] Thank you.
Quex.
Chick—
[He goes out.
Frayne.
[Turning to Sophy with dignity.] Miss Fullgarney, one thing I desire to say. It is that your behaviour this morning completely obliterates—the—
[He is cut short by another hiccup and, with a bow, withdraws. Pollitt appears at the window. Sophy goes to the entrance, and watches the departure of Quex and Frayne. Pollitt enters the room. The door-gong sounds.
Pollitt.
Sophy.
Sophy.
[Turning.] Oh! Valma, dear?
Pollitt.
[With a heavy brow.] Captain Bastling is waiting at my place, for Miss Eden.
Sophy.
[Subdued.] Is he?
Pollitt.
Dearest, during my brief but, I pride myself, honourable association with palmistry, this is the first time my rooms have been used for this sort of game.
Sophy.
This sort of game?
Pollitt.
Other Professors have stooped to it, but I—oh, no, it is playing palmistry a little bit too low down.
Sophy.
[Unhappily.] Surely it’s quite harmless, love—a couple of young people meeting to say good-bye.
Pollitt.
From what you’ve told me, I greatly doubt that it will be good-bye.
Sophy.
D—d—do you?
Pollitt.
[Hotly.] Anyhow I resent your being the go-between of this gallant captain and a girl betrothed to another man—you who are naturally such a thorough lady!
Sophy.
Oh—oh, Valma—!
[She drops her head upon his shoulder and whimpers.
Pollitt.
Dearest, what have I said?
Sophy.
Valma, I’ve made up my mind. I intend to do exactly what you wish, in the future, in everything. I’m going to give up squatting down here manicuring gentlemen—
Pollitt.
Sophy!
Sophy.
And shall simply sail about these rooms, overlooking my girls in the plainest of silks. And never again will I interfere in an underhand way in other people’s affairs on any account whatever. [Putting her arms round his neck.] Yes, you shall find me a lady—a lady—
Pollitt.
[Tenderly.] Ah—! [The door-gong sounds. She raises her head and dries her eyes hurriedly.] Is that Miss Eden?
[He crosses to the window as she goes to the entrance. Miss Limbird appears.
Miss Limbird.
[To Sophy.] Here’s Miss Eden.
Sophy.
[With a nod.] Give me half a minute with her; then I’m at liberty. [Miss Limbird disappears. Sophy comes to Pollitt.] I’ll send Muriel across directly.
[He departs. Miss Limbird returns and, holding the portière aside, admits Muriel. Muriel is wearing a veil. Miss Limbird withdraws. Sophy meets Muriel; they kiss each other undemonstratively.
Sophy.
[Constrainedly.] Well, darling?
Muriel.
[In the same way.] Well, Sophy?
Sophy.
You’re here then?
Muriel.
As you see.
Sophy.
Any difficulty?
Muriel.
[In a hard voice.] No. The Duchess and Mrs. Jack were coming to town shopping, and Lady Owbridge proposed that she and I should tack ourselves on to them.
Sophy.
How have you got rid of ’em?
Muriel.
Spoken the truth, for once—my head really does throb terribly. They think I’ve run in here to sit quietly with you while they—[Suddenly.] Oh, be quick, Sophy!
Sophy.
Quick, dear?
Muriel.
Why don’t you tell me?
Sophy.
Tell you—?
Muriel.
About last night—this woman—
Sophy.
Her Grace?
Muriel.
Yes, yes.
Sophy.
Oh, why, I haven’t anything to tell, darling.
Muriel.
Haven’t anything to—?
Sophy.
You see, I couldn’t help remembering what you’d called me—mean, and despicable, and all the rest of it; and the feeling came over me that you were right, that I had been sneaky. And so, after I’d attended to her Grace, I—I went straight to bed.
Muriel.
[Sitting.] Oh, yes. Then you didn’t attempt to—to watch?
Sophy.
No.
Muriel.
[Faintly.] Oh!
Sophy.
Aren’t you glad?
Muriel.
Glad!
Sophy.
Why, you were certain that the word or two I’d overheard meant nothing wrong.
Muriel.
I said so.
Sophy.
Said so!
Muriel.
[Turning to her with clenched hands.] Yes, but at the same time you put the dreadful idea into my head, Sophy, and I’ve not been able to dismiss it for one moment since.
Sophy.
[Under her breath.] Oh!
[Sitting.
Muriel.
[Lifting her veil.] There! you can see what I’ve been going through.
Sophy.
[Looking at her.] I’m so sorry.
Muriel.
[Looking at Sophy.] You look rather washed out too. Haven’t you slept, either?
Sophy.
[Turning her head away.] Not over well. [Falteringly.] Then, after all, it would have been better if I had spied on her?
Muriel.
Anything—even that—would have been preferable to this uncertainty.
Sophy.
[To herself, her jaw falling.] Oh—!
Muriel.
[Looking towards the window.] Has he arrived?
Sophy.
Yes.
[Muriel rises, then Sophy.
Muriel.
[Producing, from her pocket, a jeweller’s case and showing it to Sophy.] Do you like this? I’ve just bought it, over the way, at Gressier’s.
Sophy.
For Captain Bastling?
Muriel.
[With a nod, opening the box.] A solitaire shirt-stud.
[She retains a neatly-folded piece of paper which is enclosed in the box and hands the box to Sophy.
Sophy.
Beautiful. [Glancing at the piece of paper in Muriel’s hand.] What’s that?
Muriel.
[Unfolding the paper carefully.] This goes with it.
[She holds the paper before Sophy.
Sophy.
[Reading.] “To Napier—”
Muriel.
[Withdrawing the paper.] Ah, no.
Sophy.
Mayn’t I?
Muriel.
[Yielding the paper impulsively.] Yes, you may.
[Muriel turns away and stands leaning upon the back of the screen-chair on the left, with her face in her hands. Sophy places the jeweller’s case upon the circular table.
Sophy.
[Reading with difficulty.] “To Napier from Muriel. I only—” what? You have blotted it.
Muriel.
[With a sob.] Have I?
Sophy.
You’ve been crying over it.
Muriel.
Yes.
Sophy.
“I only—” I can’t read it.
Muriel.
[Through her tears.]
“I only know—we loved in vain:
I only feel—Farewell!—Farewell!”
Sophy.
[In a low voice.] Very nice, darling. [She lays the paper tenderly upon the box and goes to Muriel. Eyeing her keenly.] You really are determined, then, to wish him good-bye?
Muriel.
[Turning to her and weeping upon her shoulder.] Oh, Sophy! Sophy!
Sophy.
There, there! it’ll soon be over.
Muriel.
[Raising her head.] Over! yes, yes! over!
Sophy.
And—p’r’aps it’s all for the best, you know.
Muriel.
For the best!
Sophy.
What I mean is, that very likely we’ve both of us been a little cruel to poor Lord Quex—hard on him—
Muriel.
[Indignantly.] You say this to me! [Distractedly.] You say this, after having poisoned my mind and given me an awful night of sleeplessness and doubt. Yesterday I was as firm as a rock; to-day I’m as weak as water again. [Facing Sophy with flashing eyes.] Ah, I tell you honestly you’d better not let me meet Captain Bastling this morning! you’d better not let me see him!
[The door-gong sounds. Bastling appears at the window, and looks into the room.
Sophy.
[Whose back is towards the window, soothingly.] No, no, you sha’n’t go across to Valma’s while you’re like this. I’ll make an excuse for you to Captain Bastling—
Bastling.
[At the window.] Muriel!
Muriel.
[Passing Sophy swiftly.] Napier!
Sophy.
[Holding her arm.] Darling—
Muriel.
[Freeing herself.] Release me, Sophy! release me! ah—!
[She joins Bastling and they disappear. As Sophy goes to the window and looks out after them, Quex enters, followed by Frayne.
Quex.
[Glancing round the room.] Miss Fullgarney—
Sophy.
[Turning sharply.] Hey? [Blankly.] Oh—my lord—!
Quex.
I am compelled to intrude upon you again. I have just met Lady Owbridge, with her Grace and Mrs. Eden in Sackville Street. My aunt sends me with a message to Miss Eden.
Sophy.
[Confused.] M—m—Miss Eden?
Quex.
Mrs. Eden has proposed a lunch at Prince’s, provided that Miss Eden feels equal to— [Looking about him again.] Where is Miss Eden?
Sophy.
Where?
Quex.
She is here—with you.
Sophy.
N—no.
Quex.
No?
Sophy.
[With a gulp.] I haven’t seen anything of her.
Quex.
[In an altered tone.] Really?
Sophy.
No.
Quex.
[Calmly.] Strange.
[He walks away and joins Frayne. Sophy stealthily closes and fastens the window.
Quex.
[In a low voice, to Frayne.] Chick—
Frayne.
Eh?
Quex.
Miss Eden is here. Why is the Fullgarney telling me this falsehood?
Frayne.
You will remember I was positive she would sell you before she’d done with you.
Quex.
[Gripping Frayne’s arm.] Don’t! [Advancing to Sophy—politely.] I understood from my aunt, Miss Fullgarney, that her ladyship left Miss Eden at Gressier’s, the jeweller’s, less than half an hour ago.
Sophy.
[Fussing with the objects upon the cabinet and the manicure-table.] Oh?
Quex.
Miss Eden had some little commission to discharge at Gressier’s, and intended coming across to you immediately afterwards.
Sophy.
[Quickly.] Ah, then she hasn’t finished her business at Gressier’s yet.
Quex.
Yes, because I looked in at the shop on my way here.
Sophy.
Funny. I can’t imagine where she’s taken herself to.
Quex.
[Earnestly.] Miss Fullgarney—
Sophy.
My lord?
Quex.
I thought we had become good friends, you and I—?
Sophy.
So we have, I hope.
Quex.
And that you were desirous of rendering me a service?
Sophy.
Well, aren’t I, my lord?
Quex.
Are you? You know that Miss Eden came to you directly she left Gressier’s. You know she did.
Sophy.
[After a pause—drawing a deep breath.] Yes, I—I own it.
Quex.
[Reproachfully.] Ah, Miss Fullgarney!
Sophy.
She has been in, and I have done you the service I promised.
Quex.
[Calmly.] You have?
Sophy.
Indeed I have, as true as I stand here. [Steadying herself.] But the fact is—the fact is Miss Eden had a purchase to make that she didn’t wish the ladies to interfere over, and—and she has run out for ten minutes. If your lordship must know where she is, she’s in the Burlington.
Quex.
[Very quietly.] Oh, she has run out for a few minutes?
Sophy.
She might be a quarter of an hour.
Quex.
Not run out; flown out, at one of these windows.
Sophy.
[Faintly.] One of these windows?
Quex.
[Pointing to the entrance.] She has not gone out by the door.
Sophy.
What do you mean?
Quex.
Your young ladies assured me just now that Miss Eden was in this room with you. [Frayne, possessed of an idea, has gone to the door in the partition. He now raps at the door gently.] No, no, Chick—please! we are not policemen.
Frayne.
[Opening the door a few inches.] Miss Eden, I regret to learn you are suffering from headache.
Sophy.
[Indignantly.] Well, of all the liberties—!
Quex.
[Angrily.] Frayne!
Frayne.
May I tell you of an unfailing remedy—? [He peeps into the private room, then withdraws his head, and says to Quex.] No.
Sophy.
[Flouncing up to Frayne, and speaking volubly and violently.] Now, look here, sir, I’m a busy woman—as busy and as hard-working a woman as any in London. Because you see things a bit slack Ascot week, it doesn’t follow that my books, and a hundred little matters, don’t want attending to. [Sitting at the desk and opening and closing the books noisily.] And I’m certainly not going to have gentlemen, whoever they may be, marching into my place, and taking possession of it, and doubting my word, and opening and shutting doors, exactly as if they were staying in a common hotel. I’d have you to know that my establishment isn’t conducted on that principle.
[Quex has been standing, with compressed lips and a frown upon his face, leaning upon the back of the chair near the circular table. During Sophy’s harangue his eyes fall upon the jeweller’s case and the scrap of paper lying open upon it. He stares at the writing for a moment, then comes to the table and picks up both the case and the paper.
Frayne.
[To Sophy, while this is going on.] My good lady, a little candour on your part—
Sophy.
I don’t understand what you’re hinting at by “a little candour.” You’ve already been told where Miss Eden is, and anybody who knows me knows that if I say a thing—
Frayne.
But when your young ladies declare—
Sophy.
I’m really not responsible for the sayings and doings of a parcel of stupid girls. If they didn’t see Miss Eden go out they were asleep, and if they weren’t asleep they’re blind; and as I’ve explained till I’m hoarse, I’m very busy this morning, and I should be extremely obliged to you two gentlemen if you’d kindly go away and call again a little later.
Quex.
Chick.
Frayne.
Eh?
Quex.
I want you.
[Frayne comes to Quex, who hands him the jeweller’s case and the slip of paper.
Sophy.
[Fussing over her books, oblivious of what is transpiring.] As if the difficulty of conducting a business of this kind isn’t sufficient without extra bothers and worries being brought down on one’s head! What with one’s enormous rent, and rotten debts, it’s heartbreaking! Here’s a woman here, on my books, who runs an account for fifteen months, with the face of an angel, and no more intends to pay me than to jump over St. Paul’s—
Quex.
[Who again has possession of the jeweller’s case and the paper.] Miss Fullgarney—
Sophy.
What now, my lord? Upon my word, it is too bad—!
Quex.
Please come here.
Sophy.
[Coming forward—now on the verge of tears.] After such a night as I’ve had, too. I never could do without my full eight hours—
Quex.
Be silent!
Sophy.
What!
Quex.
Miss Eden and Captain Bastling—
Sophy.
Eh?
Quex.
They are acquaintances—friends. [With a stamp of the foot.] They are on terms of—
Sophy.
[Faintly.] Oh!
Quex.
[Pointing to the window.] She is with him at this moment—there.
Sophy.
[Unsteadily.] Whatever are you saying, my lord? [Discovering that he has the jeweller’s case and the paper.] Ah—!
Quex.
Yes, I found these upon the table. [She advances, to take them from him.] Miss Eden left them here—forgot them!
Sophy.
[In a murmur.] Yes.
[He gives them to her. She puts them into her pocket and sits.
Quex.
Come! tell me.
Sophy.
You—you are not the only one in the field, my lord.
Quex.
So I conclude.
Sophy.
Have pity on her!
Quex.
[Sternly.] How dare you!
Sophy.
It’s more my fault than hers.
Quex.
Continue.
Sophy.
She has wanted to stop it, hating herself for being deceitful, but I—I’ve encouraged her, egged her on.
Quex.
Yes.
Sophy.
They’ve been in the habit of meeting here at my place.
Quex.
[Again pointing to the window.] In this fellow’s rooms—Mr. Valma’s—
Sophy.
[Rising.] No, no. They’ve never met there, till this morning. But he—young Bastling—he’s going away, abroad, in a fortnight or so, and he wished to say good-bye to her quietly.
Quex.
[Turning towards the window fiercely.] Ah—!
Sophy.
[Laying her hand upon his arm.] Be careful, my lord!
Quex.
[Looking at her.] Careful?
Sophy.
[Significantly.] I know how she feels to-day. If you want to send her to Hong-Kong with Captain Bastling—
[Quex hesitates for a moment, then crosses to Frayne, to whom he speaks apart.
Quex.
Chick! how shall I act?
Frayne.
[Dismally.] Dear old chap, to be quite honest with you, I was not wholly captivated by Miss Eden when you presented me yesterday.
Quex.
Tshah! What shall I do? wait?
Frayne.
In any event, of course, the man’s head has to be punched. But it might be wise to delay doing it until—
Quex.
[To Sophy.] You spoke, a little while ago, of giving me “a chance.” I see now what was in your mind. There’s a risk, then, that this good-bye may not be final?
Sophy.
[Stammeringly.] W—well, I—
Quex.
[Sharply.] Eh?
Sophy.
[Breaking down.] Oh, my lord, recollect, she’s not much more than a girl!
Quex.
No, she is not much more than a girl; but you—though you and she are of the same age—you are a woman. You know your world, upstairs and downstairs, boudoir and kitchen. Yet you own you have encouraged her in this, made her clandestine meetings with this penniless beggar possible. You—! you deserve to be whipped, Miss Fullgarney—whipped!
Sophy.
[Facing him.] Come, my lord! not so fast! After all, remember, Captain Bastling may be poor, but he’s Miss Eden’s match in other ways.
Quex.
Match?
Sophy.
Young, and good-looking. Oh, and isn’t it natural—?
Quex.
Quite natural—quite. [Turning to Frayne.] Chick, what an ass I’ve been; what fools we old chaps are, all of us! Why, if I had led the life of a saint, it would only be necessary for a man like this Bastling to come along, to knock me out. Good lord, how clear it is, when it’s brought home to you in this fashion! It isn’t the scamp, the 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