Chapter 2

SOPHY.

[_Taking a bottle from his hand--raising her voice._] You'll receive the perfume in the course of the afternoon. [_Replacing the bottle upon the table._] Shall I do your nails?

BASTLING.

Thanks.

[_They move away. He takes his place in the screen-chair; she sits facing him. During the process of manicuring they talk together earnestly._

FRAYNE.

[_Eyeing_ SOPHY.] Slim, but shapely. Slim, but shapely.

MISS MOON _enters, with a bowl of water. Having adjusted the bowl upon the arm of the screen-chair, she retires._

FRAYNE.

There's another of 'em. Plain. [_Watching_ MISS MOON _as she goes out._] I don't know--rather alluring. [_Finding_ QUEX _by his side._] Beg your pardon.

QUEX.

Didn't hear you.

FRAYNE.

Glad of it. At the same time, old friend, you will forgive me for remarking that a man's virtuous resolutions must be--ha, ha!--somewhat feeble, hey?--when he flinches at the mere admiration of beauty on the part of a pal, connoisseur through that pal undoubtedly is.

QUEX.

Oh, my dear Chick, my resolutions are firm enough.

FRAYNE.

[_Dubiously._] H'm!

QUEX.

And my prudery is consistent with the most laudable intentions, I assure you. But the fact is, dear chap, I go in fear and trembling--

FRAYNE.

Ah!

QUEX.

No, no, not for my strength of mind--fear lest any trivial act of mine, however guileless; the most innocent glance in the direction of a decent-looking woman; should be misinterpreted by the good ladies in whose hands I have placed myself--especially aunt Julia. You remember Lady Owbridge?

FRAYNE.

Why did you intrust yourself--?

QUEX.

My one chance! [_Taking_ FRAYNE _to the table, against which they both lean shoulder to shoulder--his voice falling into a strain of tenderness._] Chick, when I fell in love with Miss Eden--

FRAYNE.

[_In sentimental retrospection._] Fell in love! what memories are awakened by the dear old phrase!

QUEX.

[_Dryly._] Yes. Will you talk about your love affairs, Chick, or shall I--?

FRAYNE.

Certainly--you. Go on, Harry.

QUEX.

When I proposed marriage to Miss Eden--it was at the hunt-ball at Stanridge--

FRAYNE.

[_His eyes sparkling._] Did you select a retired corner--with flowers--by any chance?

QUEX.

There _were_ flowers.

FRAYNE.

I know--_I_ know! Nearly twenty years ago, and the faint scent of the _Gardenia Florida_ remains in my nostrils!

QUEX.

Quite so. Would _you_ like to--?

FRAYNE.

[_Sitting._] No, no--you. Excuse me. You go on.

QUEX.

[_Sitting on the edge of the table, looking down upon_ FRAYNE.] When I proposed to Miss Eden I was certain--even while I was stammering it out--I was certain that my infernal evil character--

FRAYNE.

Ah, yes. I've always been a dooced deal more artful than you, Harry, over my little _amours_. [_Chuckling._] Ha, ha! devilish cunning!

QUEX.

And I was right. Her first words were, "Think of your life; how can you ask this of me?"--her first words and her last, that evening. I was desperate, Chick, for I--Well, I'm hit, you know.

FRAYNE.

What did you do?

QUEX.

Came to town by the first train in the morning--drove straight off to Richmond, to my pious aunt. Found her in bed with asthma; _I_ got her up. And I almost went down on my knees to her, Chick.

FRAYNE.

Not really?

QUEX.

I did--old man as I am! no, I'm not old.

FRAYNE.

Forty-eight. Ha, ha! I'm only forty-five.

QUEX.

But you've had malaria--

FRAYNE.

Dry up, Harry!

QUEX.

So we're quits. Well, down on my marrow-bones I went, metaphorically, and there and then I made my vows to old aunt Julia, and craved her help; and she dropped tears on me, Chick, like a mother. And the result was that within a month I became engaged to Miss Eden.

FRAYNE.

The young lady soon waived her--

QUEX.

[_Getting off the table._] I beg your pardon--the young lady did nothing of the kind. But with aunt Julia's aid I showed 'em all that it was a genuine case of done with the old life--a real, genuine instance. [_Balancing upon the back of the chair._] I've sold my house in Norfolk Street.

FRAYNE.

You'll want one.

QUEX.

[_Gravely._] Not that one--for Muriel. [_Brightly._] And I'm living sedately at Richmond, under aunt Julia's wing. Muriel is staying at Fauncey Court too, just now; she's up from Norfolk for the Season, chaperoned by Mrs. Jack. [_Sitting, nursing his knee, with a sigh of content_.] Ah! after all, it's very pleasant to be a good boy.

FRAYNE.

When is it to take place?

QUEX.

At the end of the year; assuming, of course--

FRAYNE.

That you continue to behave prettily? [QUEX _assents, with a wave of the hand._] The slightest lapse on your part--?

QUEX.

Impossible.

FRAYNE.

But it would--?

QUEX.

[_A little impatiently._] Naturally.

FRAYNE.

Well, six months pass quickly--everywhere but on the West Coast of Africa.

QUEX.

And then--you shall be my best man, Chick, if you're still home.

FRAYNE.

[_Rising._] Hah! I never thought--

QUEX.

[_Rising._] No; I who always laughed at marriage as a dull depravity permitted to the respectable classes! I who always maintained that man's whole duty to woman--meaning his mistresses--that a man's duty to a woman is liberally discharged when he has made a settlement on her, or stuck her into his will! [_Blowing the ideas from him._] Phugh!

[_He goes to the little table, and examines the objects upon it._

FRAYNE.

[_Following him._] Talking of--ah--mistresses I suppose you've--?

QUEX.

Oh, yes, they're all--

FRAYNE.

Made happy and comfortable?

QUEX.

I've done my utmost.

FRAYNE.

Mrs.--?

QUEX.

[_Rather irritably._] I say, all of them.

FRAYNE.

No trouble with Lady--?

QUEX.

No, no, no, no.

FRAYNE.

What about the little Duchess? [QUEX _pauses in his examination of a nail-clipper._] Eh?

QUEX.

[_Turning to him, slightly embarrassed._] Odd that you should mention her.

FRAYNE.

Why?

QUEX.

She's staying at Fauncey Court also.

FRAYNE.

The Duchess!

QUEX.

She proposed herself for a visit. I dared not raise any objection, for her reputation's sake; the ladies would have suspected at once. You're one of the few, Chick, who ever got an inkling of that business.

FRAYNE.

Very awkward!

QUEX.

No. She's behaving admirably. [_Thoughtfully--with a wry face._] Of course she was always a little romantic and sentimental.

FRAYNE.

By gad though, what an alluring woman!

QUEX.

[_Shortly._] Perhaps.

FRAYNE.

Ho, come! you don't mean to tell me--?

QUEX.

[_With dignity._] Yes, I do--upon my honour, I've forgotten. [_The door-gong sounds._] This must be the ladies.

MURIEL EDEN _enters, followed by_ MISS CLARIDGE. MURIEL _is a tall, fresh-looking, girlish young woman, prettily dressed._ SOPHY _rises and meets her._

MURIEL.

[_Behind the circular table--to_ SOPHY, _breathlessly, as if from the exertion of running upstairs._] Well, Sophy! [_Looking round._] Is Lord Quex--? [SOPHY _glances towards_ QUEX, _who advances._] Oh, yes. [_To_ QUEX.] Lady Owbridge and Mrs. Jack won't fag upstairs just now. They're waiting for you in the carriage, they asked me to say.

QUEX.

[_In tender solicitation._] Moses in the Bulrushes? You still elect to have your nails cut?

MURIEL.

Thanks, I--[_with an effort_] I've already seen the picture.

QUEX.

And its merits are not sufficient--?

MURIEL.

[_Guiltily._] I thought the bulrushes rather well done.

QUEX.

May I present my old friend, Sir Chichester Frayne?

MURIEL.

[_To_ FRAYNE.] How do you do?

QUEX.

[_To_ FRAYNE.] Will you come, Chick? [_To_ MURIEL.] We shall be back very soon.

[MURIEL _nods to_ QUEX _and_ FRAYNE _and turns away to the window, removing her gloves._ SOPHY _joins her._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX.] As I suspected--the typical, creamy English girl. We all do it! we all come to that, sooner or later.

QUEX.

[_Looking from_, MURIEL _to_ FRAYNE _proudly._] Well--

FRAYNE.

[_In answer, kissing his finger-tips to the air._] Alluring!

QUEX.

Ha! [_Hastily._] We're keeping the ladies waiting.

[_He goes out._ FRAYNE _is following_ QUEX, _when he encounters_ MISS CLARIDGE. _He pauses, gazing at her admiringly. The door-gong sounds._

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_Surprised._] Do you wish anything, sir?

FRAYNE.

[_With a little sigh of longing._] Ah--h!

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_Coldly._] Shall I cut your nails?

FRAYNE.

[_Wofully._] That's it, dear young lady--you can't!

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_With hauteur._] Reely! Why not, sir?

FRAYNE.

I regret to say I bite 'em.

[_He goes out_. MISS CLARIDGE _titters loudly to_ MISS LIMBIRD.

SOPHY.

[_To_ MISS CLARIDGE, _reprovingly._] Miss Claridge! I don't require you at present.

[MISS CLARIDGE _withdraws._

SOPHY.

[_Going to_ MISS LIMBIRD.] Miss Limbird, will _you_ oblige me? hot water, please.

[MISS LIMBIRD _goes out. At once_ SOPHY _gives a signal to_ BASTLING _and_ MURIEL, _and keeps guard._ BASTLING _and_ MURIEL _talk in low, hurried tones._

BASTLING.

[_On the right of the circular table._] How are you?

MURIEL.

[_On the other side, giving him her hand across the table._] I don't know. [_Withdrawing her hand._] I hate myself!

BASTLING.

Hate yourself?

MURIEL.

For this sort of thing. [_Glancing round apprehensively._] Oh!

BASTLING.

Don't be frightened. Sophy's there.

MURIEL.

I'm nervous--shaky. When I wrote to you last night I thought I should be able to sneak up to town this morning only with a maid. And you've met Quex too!

BASTLING.

None of them suspect--?

MURIEL.

No. Oh, but go now!

BASTLING.

Already! May I not sit and watch you?

MURIEL.

Not to-day.

BASTLING.

You must hear my news, then, from Sophy; she'll tell you--

MURIEL.

News?

SOPHY.

[_Turning to them sharply._] Hsst!

MURIEL.

Good-bye!

BASTLING.

[_Grasping her arm._] Haven't you one loving little speech for me?

SOPHY.

[_Behind the table._] Gar--r--rh!

[_He releases_ MURIEL _and picks up a large wooden bowl of bath-soap, just as_ MISS LIMBIRD _re-enters with the hot water._ MURIEL _moves away, hastily._

SOPHY.

[_To_ BASTLING, _taking the soap from him--raising her voice._] Thank you--much obliged. [_Transferring the soap to_ MISS LIMBIRD _and relieving her of the bowl of water._] For Captain Bastling, with a bottle of Fleur de Lilas.

[MISS LIMBIRD _returns to her desk;_ SOPHY _deposits the bowl of water upon the arm of the screen-chair;_ BASTLING _fetches his hat, and gives some directions to_ MISS LIMBIRD.

MURIEL.

[_To_ SOPHY, _in a whisper._] Sophy, these extravagances on his part! I am the cause of them! he is not in the least well off!

SOPHY.

Don't worry; it's all booked. Ha, ha! bless him, he'll never get his account from me! [BASTLING, _with a parting glance in the direction of_ MURIEL _and_ SOPHY, _goes out._] He's gone.

[MISS LIMBIRD _also goes out, carrying the bowl of bath-soap._

MURIEL.

[_With a sigh of relief._] Oh!

SOPHY.

[_Coming to her._] We're by ourselves for a minute. Give me a good hug. [_Embracing her._] My dear! my darling! ha, ha, ha! you shall be the first to hear of it--I'm engaged.

MURIEL.

Sophy! to whom?

SOPHY.

To Mr. Valma, the great palmist.

MURIEL.

What, the young man you've talked to me about--next door? [_Kissing her._] I hope you are doing well for yourself, dear.

SOPHY.

He's simply perfect! he's--! oh, how can I be such a brute, talking of my own happiness--! [_In an altered tone._] Darling, Captain Bastling's regiment is going to be sent off to Hong-Kong.

MURIEL.

[_After a pause--commanding herself._] When?

SOPHY.

In about a fortnight.

MURIEL.

[_Frigidly._] Is this what you had to tell me, from him?

SOPHY.

Yes, and that he must see you to-morrow, alone. I'll arrange it. Can you manage to be here at twelve?

MURIEL.

I daresay, somehow.

SOPHY.

[_Looking at her in surprise._] I thought you'd be more upset.

MURIEL.

[_Taking_ SOPHY'S _hand._] The truth is, Sophy--I'm glad.

SOPHY.

Glad!

MURIEL.

Awfully glad the chance has come of putting an end to all this. Oh, I've been treating him shockingly!

SOPHY.

Him?

MURIEL.

Lord Quex!

SOPHY.

[_Impatiently._] Oh! pooh!

MURIEL.

[_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!

SOPHY.

But, dear, how do you know what Captain Bastling means to say to you to-morrow?

MURIEL.

[_Pausing in her walk._] To say?--good-bye.

SOPHY.

Suppose he asks you to put him out of his misery--marry him directly, on the quiet?

MURIEL.

[_A little unsteadily._] Then I shall tell him finally--my word is given to Lord Quex.

SOPHY.

[_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._

MURIEL.

[_At_ SOPHY'S _side, desperately._] But I tell you, Sophy, I love Lord Quex.

SOPHY.

You may _tell_ me.

MURIEL.

I do--I mean, I'm getting to. [_Defiantly._] At any rate, I am proud of him.

SOPHY.

Proud!

MURIEL.

Certainly--proud that he has mended his ways for my sake.

SOPHY.

[_Between tears and anger._] Mended his ways! with those eyes of his!

MURIEL.

[_Looking down upon_ SOPHY, _wonderingly._] His eyes? why, they are considered his best feature.

SOPHY.

_I_ never saw wickeder eyes. All my girls say the same.

MURIEL.

[_With rising indignation._] I am sure you have never detected Lord Quex looking at anybody in a way he should not.

SOPHY.

Oh, I admit he has always behaved in a gentlemanly manner towards me and my girls.

MURIEL.

[_Haughtily._ Towards you and your--! Sophy, pray remember Lord Quex's rank.

SOPHY.

[_In hot scorn._] His rank! ha! do you think his lordship has ever let _that_ interfere--?

[_She checks herself, finding_ MURIEL _staring at her._

MURIEL.

[_In horror._] Sophy!

SOPHY.

[_Discomposed--rising._] Er--if I'm to do anything to your nails--

[_As_ SOPHY _is moving towards the manicure-table,_ MURIEL _intercepts her._

MURIEL.

You are surely not suggesting that Lord Quex has ever descended--?

SOPHY.

[_Hastily._] No, no, no. [_Brushing past_ MURIEL _and seating herself before the screen-chair_.] Come; they'll all be here directly.

MURIEL.

[_Sitting in the screen-chair._] Sophy, you have heard some story--

SOPHY.

[_Examining_ MURIEL'S _hands._] A little varnishing is all you need to-day.

MURIEL.

You shall tell me!

SOPHY.

[_Proceeding with her work methodically._] It's nothing much; I'm sorry I--

MURIEL.

[_Imperatively._] Sophy!

SOPHY.

[_Reluctantly._] Oh, well--well, when I was at Mrs. Beaupoint's in Grosvenor Street--

MURIEL.

Yes?

SOPHY.

A Lady Pumphrey came to stay there with a goodish-looking maid--Edith Smith her name was--

MURIEL.

Never mind her name!

SOPHY.

And they'd lately met Lord Quex in a country house in Worcestershire. Well, he had kissed _her_--Smith admitted it.

MURIEL.

Kissed whom--Lady Pumphrey?

SOPHY.

Oh, of course he'd kissed Lady Pumphrey; but he kissed Smith afterwards, when he tipped her. She told me what he said.

MURIEL.

What did he say?

SOPHY.

He said, "There's a little something for yourself, my girl."

MURIEL.

[_Starting to her feet and walking away._] My heavens! a Maid! what next am I to hear--his _blanchisseuse_? [_Sinking into a chair._] Oh! oh, dear!

SOPHY.

[_Turning in her chair to face_ MURIEL.] It's one thing I always meant 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 give your nails the fashionable cut. [_Going to_ QUEX _and_ MURIEL.] Everybody is wearing pointed nails this Season.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Advancing to_ SOPHY.] Ah, no, no. These practices are somewhat shocking to an old woman. [_To_ SOPHY.] But I don't blame you. [_Laying her hand upon_ SOPHY'S _arm, kindly._] So you're Miss Eden's foster-sister, eh?

SOPHY.

I've that honour, my lady.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

You look a little thin. Come down to Fauncey Court to-day as soon as your duties will release you. Spend as many hours there as you can.

SOPHY.

Oh, my lady!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Run about the grounds--go wherever you please; and get the air into your lungs. [_With gracious formality._] Remember, I invite you.

MURIEL.

[_Innocently._] How good of you, Lady Owbridge!

SOPHY.

Thank you, my lady.

[FRAYNE _returns--accompanied by_ MISS MOON, _who carries a neat package--and settles an account with_ MISS LIMBIRD _at the desk._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_To_ SOPHY.] You shall be well looked after.

[_She shakes hands with_ FRAYNE.

MURIEL.

[_Kissing_ SOPHY.] We shall meet by-and-by.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Muriel--young people--

[MURIEL _joins_ LADY OWBRIDGE; _they go out together._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Nodding to_ SOPHY.] This evening, Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_In a flutter of simple pleasure._] Yes, Mrs. Eden.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Shaking hands with_ FRAYNE.] Till dinner--

[_She goes out._

QUEX.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Good-bye, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Tripping across the room._] Good-day, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Joining_ FRAYNE.] Are you coming, Chick?

FRAYNE.

[_Taking the parcel from_ MISS MOON, _and turning to_ QUEX, _rather bitterly._] I say, that gal has made me buy something I don't want. They stick you here frightfully--

QUEX.

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

[_They go out together._

SOPHY.

[_Adjusting her hair at the mirror._] Come, girls! look alive! no more work for me to-day! I'm off home to change my frock. I've got an invite down to Richmond. My hat and coat!

[_The door-gong sounds._ MISS MOON _disappears at the door in the partition._ MISS HUDDLE _enters._

SOPHY.

Miss Hud-delle, please run next door, and ask Mr. Valma to step this way for a moment.

MISS HUDDLE.

He's on the leads, Miss Fullgarney, smoking a cigarette.

SOPHY.

[_Running across to the window._] Get my bag of tools ready! sharp! [MISS HUDDLE _and_ MISS LIMBIRD _go out;_ SOPHY _opens the window and calls._] Valma! Valma! Valma!

[MISS MOON _returns with_ SOPHY'S _hat, coat, gloves and umbrella._

MISS MOON.

Your things, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[_Taking them from her._] Send for a hansom--a smart one.

[MISS MOON _runs out as_ VALMA _enters at the window._

SOPHY.

[_Breathlessly._] Valma--Valma, love! I've got an invite down to Richmond--Lady Owbridge--she's asked me specially! I'm going home to my place to smarten-up. Isn't it jolly? [_In an outburst._] Oh, love, you might give-up for to-day, and take me down!

VALMA.

May I?

SOPHY.

May you! Your hat--get your hat! you'll find me outside in a cab.

[_He hurries away._

MISS LIMBIRD, _carrying a leather bag, enters, followed by_ MISS CLARIDGE _and_ MISS HUDDLE.

SOPHY.