[_After a pause--commanding herself._] When?
[_Frigidly._] Is this what you had to tell me, from him?
Yes, and that he must see you to-morrow, alone. I'll arrange it. Can you manage to be here at twelve?
[_Looking at her in surprise._] I thought you'd be more upset.
[_Taking_ SOPHY'S _hand._] The truth is, Sophy--I'm glad.
Awfully glad the chance has come of putting an end to all this. Oh, I've been treating him shockingly!
[_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!
But, dear, how do you know what Captain Bastling means to say to you to-morrow?
[_Pausing in her walk._] To say?--good-bye.
Suppose he asks you to put him out of his misery--marry him directly, on the quiet?
[_A little unsteadily._] Then I shall tell him finally--my word is given to Lord Quex.
[_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._
[_At_ SOPHY'S _side, desperately._] But I tell you, Sophy, I love Lord Quex.
I do--I mean, I'm getting to. [_Defiantly._] At any rate, I am proud of him.
Certainly--proud that he has mended his ways for my sake.
[_Between tears and anger._] Mended his ways! with those eyes of his!
[_Looking down upon_ SOPHY, _wonderingly._] His eyes? why, they are considered his best feature.
_I_ never saw wickeder eyes. All my girls say the same.
[_With rising indignation._] I am sure you have never detected Lord Quex looking at anybody in a way he should not.
Oh, I admit he has always behaved in a gentlemanly manner towards me and my girls.
[_Haughtily._ Towards you and your--! Sophy, pray remember Lord Quex's rank.
[_In hot scorn._] His rank! ha! do you think his lordship has ever let _that_ interfere--?
[_She checks herself, finding_ MURIEL _staring at her._
[_Discomposed--rising._] Er--if I'm to do anything to your nails--
[_As_ SOPHY _is moving towards the manicure-table,_ MURIEL _intercepts her._
You are surely not suggesting that Lord Quex has ever descended--?
[_Hastily._] No, no, no. [_Brushing past_ MURIEL _and seating herself before the screen-chair_.] Come; they'll all be here directly.