The Gay Lord Quex | Page 9

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