Chapter 3

[_As she, with the aid of her girls, pins on her hat and scrambles into her coat._] You know, girls, many a silly person's head would be turned at being asked to a place like Fauncey Court--as a guest, bear in mind. But there, the houses I've been in!--it's nothing to me. Still, specially invited by the Countess of Owbridge herself--! [_Putting her feet in turn upon a chair and hitching up her stockings._] I shall just make rather a favour of manicuring Mrs. Jack. One doesn't go visiting to cut Mrs. Jack's claws. Gloves! Thank goodness, the evenings are long! they say it's simply heavenly at Fauncey Court--simply heaven--[_She breaks off abruptly, staring straight before her. Under her breath._] Oh--! Fauncey Court--Lord Quex--!

MISS CLARIDGE.

What's the matter, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

N--n--nothing.

MISS MOON.

[_Entering._] Cab, Miss Fullgarney!

SOPHY.

[_In an altered voice._] Bag. [_She takes her bag from_ MISS LIMBIRD _and walks away, rather slowly, with her head down. Quietly, without turning._] See you in the morning, girls.

THE FOUR GIRLS.

Good afternoon, Miss Fullgarney.

[SOPHY _goes out._

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND ACT

_The scene represents a portion of an English garden laid out in Italian fashion. At the extreme back--upon ground slightly raised--two dense cypress-hedges, about sixteen feet high, form an alley running from right to left. In the centre of the hedge which is nearer the spectator there is an opening, and at this opening are three or four steps connecting the higher with the lower level. Beyond the alley nothing is seen but the sky and some tree-tops. In advance is an enclosure formed by a dwarf cypress-hedge, about four feet in height, also broken in the centre by an opening, and running off right and left at a sharp angle. On the outside of the dwarf hedge is a walk; and beyond, on the right and left, are trees. Within the enclosure, on the left, is a small fountain; facing the fountain, on the right, a piece of old, broken sculpture. Other bits of antique sculpture are placed in different parts of the garden. In the foreground, on the right towards the centre, stands a stone bench, on the left of which is a table upon which are the remains of "afternoon tea," with a garden chair. A similar stone bench stands opposite._

_The light is that of a very fine evening._

[LADY OWBRIDGE _is in the garden-chair, asleep, an open book in her lap._ QUEX _and_ MURIEL _stand, talking together, by the fountain. On the right-hand stone bench the_ DUCHESS OF STROOD _and_ MRS. EDEN _are seated. The_ DUCHESS _is a daintily beautiful doll of about seven-and-thirty--a_ poseuse, _outwardly dignified and stately when upon her guard, really a frail, shallow little creature full of extravagant sentimentality. Until_ LADY OWBRIDGE _wakes, the conversation is carried on in subdued tones._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Indicating_ MURIEL _and_ QUEX.] They make a fascinating couple, don't they, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[_With placid melancholy._] To see two people on the threshold of wedlock is always painfully interesting.

MRS. EDEN.

I am quite triumphant about it. It is such a delightful engagement, now that the horrid difficulties are smoothed away.

DUCHESS.

Yes, you were telling me of some sad obstacles--

MRS. EDEN.

I nearly perished of them! [_Very confidentially._] There's no doubt, you know, that his past _has_ been exceptionally naughty.

DUCHESS.

Really? Ah! don't be surprised that I am not more deeply shocked. In these surroundings it is hard to realise that every aspect of life is not as lovely as--[_pointing to the foliage_] the tones of those exquisite, deep greens, for example.

MRS. EDEN.

However, the dear thing is going to be _so_ good in the future. [_Turning to the_ DUCHESS.] I keep forgetting--Lord Quex is a very old friend of yours?

DUCHESS.

[_Serenely._] An acquaintance of many years' standing. But since his Grace has been an invalid we have lived much abroad, or in seclusion, and gossip has not reached us. Alas, you find me a ready subject _à désillusionner_! [_Rising._] We are in the sun. Shall we walk?

MRS. EDEN.

[_Sympathetically, as they walk._] Is his Grace still very unwell?

DUCHESS.

[_Smiling sadly upon_ MRS. EDEN.] He is still over seventy.

[_They wander away, through the trees, as_ QUEX _and_ MURIEL _leave the fountain._

QUEX.

[_With tender playfulness, first glancing at the sleeping_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] And so all these good things are to befall me after to-morrow?

MURIEL.

[_In a low voice._] After to-morrow.

QUEX.

When I approach, I shall no longer see you skim away into the far vista of these alleys, or shrink back into the shadows of the corridors--[_prosaically_] after to-morrow.

MURIEL.

No--not after to-morrow.

QUEX.

In place of a cold word, a chilling phrase, a warm one--after to-morrow.

MURIEL.

I am going to try.

QUEX.

If I touch your hand, you'll not slip it behind your back in a hurry [_touching her hand_]--?

MURIEL.

[_Withdrawing it._] Not after to-morrow.

[_She sits; he stands behind the stone bench, leaning over the back of it._

QUEX.

But why, may I ask, is this bliss reserved till after _to-morrow_?

MURIEL.

I had rather you did _not_ ask me, Quex.

QUEX.

No? I see, I am a day too soon in putting even that little question.

MURIEL.

Ah, I'll tell you this--I am going to turn over a new leaf, after to-morrow.

QUEX.

You! your pages are all milk-white. What can you detect upon one of them to induce you to turn it?

MURIEL.

[_Gazing into space._] I--I've been scribbling there--scrawling--drawing pictures--

QUEX.

Pictures--of what?

MURIEL.

You shall know, perhaps, some day.

QUEX.

After to-morrow?

MURIEL.

Yes, Quex, but--after many to-morrows.

[TWO MEN-SERVANTS--_an old man and a young one--descend the steps and proceed to remove the tea-things._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Waking._] Eh--? [_Seeing_ MURIEL _and_ QUEX.] Ah, my dears--! I am reading such an absorbing book.

MURIEL.

[_By her side, taking the book._] May I--?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

You should study the Dean of St. Olpherts' sermons--and you, Henry.

QUEX.

[_Taking the book from_ MURIEL _and turning its pages._] Yes, I must--I must--

LADY OWBRIDGE.

By the way, has anything been seen of that nice young manicure girl, Miss Sophy--something--?

MURIEL.

Sophy Fullgarney--she arrived at about half-past four, and I asked Mrs. Gregory to show her over the house. I thought you would not object.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Object! it pleases me.

MURIEL.

She is roving about the grounds now.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

An exceedingly prepossessing young woman, of her class.

[_The_ SERVANTS _have gone up the steps, carrying the tea-things._

THE ELDER SERVANT.

[_Looking down the alley towards the left._] I see the young person, my lady.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

I'll speak to her, Bristow.

[_The_ ELDER SERVANT _goes off towards the left; the younger one, bearing the tray, to the right. The_ DUCHESS _and_ MRS. EDEN _return, above the low cypress-hedge;_ QUEX _meets them._

MURIEL.

I would not have left her, but the young man she is engaged to brought her down, and I took it upon myself to give him permission to remain.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Oh, is Miss Fullgarney engaged?

MURIEL.

To Mr. Valma, the palmist.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Approaching._] Valma, the palmist!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

What is a palmist, pray?

MURIEL.

He reads your past and your future in the lines of your hands. It's his profession, dear Lady Owbridge.

MRS. EDEN.

Oh, do let us have him into the drawing-room after dinner! I hear he is simply charming.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Charming! [_Rising._] What are our ladies coming to! Dear, dear me! in my day such follies and superstitions were entirely restricted to the kitchen.

[MURIEL _joins the_ DUCHESS. QUEX _is dutifully looking into the book of sermons. The servant returns, followed by_ SOPHY, _and then retires;_ SOPHY _comes forward, beamingly. She is prettily dressed, but in sober colours._

SOPHY.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Here I am, my lady. I'm having such a good time!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

That's right.

SOPHY.

Oh, this garden! they may well call it heavenly.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

They ought not to call it that, my dear. But it is indeed full of earthly solace.

SOPHY.

It must be. And what a place for a bicycle!

MURIEL.

[_Reprovingly._] Bicycles are not allowed to enter these grounds, Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_Sobered._] Oh--!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Miss Eden tells me you are accompanied by the young man to whom you are engaged to be married.

SOPHY.

I hope I haven't taken too great a liberty--

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Looking round._] I don't see him.

SOPHY.

He has run back to the station. I've just found out I left my bag in the fly that brought us here. So stupid of me!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Mrs. Gregory will give you, both, dinner.

SOPHY.

Thank you, my lady.

[_The_ DUCHESS _is now seated in the garden-chair. The younger of the two servants enters, carrying_ SOPHY'S _bag and the evening papers._

SERVANT.

[_Handing the bag to_ SOPHY.] The cabman has brought your bag back, miss.

SOPHY.

There now! Much obliged. [_To_ MRS. EDEN.] Poor Mr. Valma will have his tramp for nothing, won't he?

[SOPHY _and_ MRS. EDEN _talk together._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

The evening papers, Morgan?

SERVANT.

[_Who has laid the papers upon the table._] Yes, my lady.

[_The_ SERVANT _retires._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

So late? we must go in and dress.

DUCHESS.

[_Who has been occupied in observing_ QUEX.] I'll follow you, dear Lady Owbridge.

[LADY OWBRIDGE _moves away and is joined by_ MRS. EDEN.

MRS. EDEN.

[_As she ascends the steps with_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Sophy, I shall be ready for you in a quarter of an hour.

SOPHY.

All right, Mrs. Eden.

[LADY OWBRIDGE _and_ MRS. EDEN _disappear._

MURIEL.

[_Crossing to_ SOPHY.] Wouldn't you like to walk to the gates to meet Mr. Valma?

SOPHY.

Thanks, dear, I think I would.

MURIEL.

I can show you a nearer way than by going back to the house. [_Pointing into the distance._] Follow this hedge and take the second alley--not the first--on your left. When you reach the big fountain--

[QUEX, _still dipping into the sermons, has come down to the back of the table. He now throws the book upon the table and picks up a newspaper._

QUEX.

I beg your pardon, Duchess--I didn't see you.

DUCHESS.

[_In a whisper._] Harry--

QUEX.

[_Startled._] Eh?

DUCHESS.

I will hurry into my gown and return. Be here in a quarter of an hour.

QUEX.

May I ask--the reason?

DUCHESS.

[_A newspaper in her hand--talking to him, in undertones, over the top of it._] For a week, only the merest commonplaces have passed between us. I must relieve my heart; it is bursting!

QUEX.

I entreat you to consider my position.

DUCHESS.

Yours! have _I_ no reputation to endanger? [_Rising--laying the paper aside._] What a pitiably small request! you will grant it?

QUEX.

If you could see your way to excuse me--

DUCHESS.

In memory of the past--! I demand it!

QUEX.

[_With a stiff bow._] Oh--oh, certainly.

DUCHESS.

[_Leaving him._] Thank you.

QUEX.

[_To himself._] Damn!

[_He turns on his heel and walks away._

DUCHESS.

[_Joining_ MURIEL.] You are coming to dress?

MURIEL.

[_After smiling assent, presenting_ SOPHY.] Miss Fullgarney was my first playmate, Duchess.

DUCHESS.

[_Looking upon_ SOPHY _graciously._] Ah? [_To_ MURIEL.] The souvenirs of childhood are sweet, are they not?

[_She slips her arm through_ MURIEL'S, _and they ascend the steps and go away together._ SOPHY _comes to the stone bench on the left, upon which she deposits her bag. She opens the bag, produces a little mirror and a comb, and puts her "fringe" in order--humming as she does so an air from the latest comic opera. Then she returns the comb and mirror to the bag and--bag in hand--prepares to depart. While this is going on_ QUEX _returns, above the low hedge. He ascends the steps and looks off into the distance, watching the retreating figure of the_ DUCHESS. _After a moment or two he shrugs his shoulders in a perplexed, troubled way, and, coming down the steps, encounters_ SOPHY.

SOPHY.

[_Innocently._] Lovely evening, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Passing her, with a nod and a smile._] Very--very.

[_At the table, he exchanges the newspaper he carries for another. She is going in the direction indicated by_ MURIEL. _Suddenly she pauses, above the dwarf cypress-hedge, and stands looking at_ QUEX _with an expression in which fear and determination are mingled. Having selected his newspaper,_ QUEX _crosses to the left and sits, reading._

SOPHY.

[_Coming to him._] I don't think I shall go, after all.

QUEX.

[_Lowering his paper._] Eh?

SOPHY.

I was just starting off down to the gates, you know, to meet Mr. Valma.

QUEX.

[_With amiable indifference._] Oh?

SOPHY.

[_Her head upon one side, smiling._] But it's too hot for walking, isn't it?

QUEX.

[_Resuming his reading._] It is warm.

SOPHY.

[_Putting her bag upon the table and removing her gloves._] Phew!

[_She eyes him askance, undecided, as to a plan of action. He lowers his paper again, disconcerting her._

QUEX.

You don't feel you _ought_ to go and meet your--Mr. Valma?

SOPHY.

[_Edging towards him._] I might miss him--mightn't I?

QUEX.

Certainly--you might.

SOPHY.

Besides, it wouldn't do for me to attend upon Mrs. Jack--Mrs. Eden--all puffing and towzelled; [_archly_] now, would it?

QUEX.

[_Resuming his reading._] You're the best judge.

SOPHY.

So I've a quarter of an hour to fill in somehow. [_A pause._] I've a quarter of an hour to fill in somehow.

QUEX.

[_Behind his paper, beginning to be extremely bored._] Indeed?

SOPHY.

[_Quaking._] I--I wish there were some quiet little shady places to ramble about in, here at Fauncey Court.

QUEX.

There are several.

SOPHY.

Are there?... are there?

QUEX.

[_Turning his paper._] Oh, yes, a great many.

SOPHY.

You see, I'm a stranger--

QUEX.

[_Kindly._] Well, you run along; you'll find 'em. [_She walks away slowly, baffled. He glances at her over his paper, slightly puzzled._] Have you seen the grotto?

SOPHY.

[_Turning sharply._] No.

QUEX.

[_Pointing towards the right._] It's in that direction.

SOPHY.

Grotto? Dark, I suppose, and lonelyish?

QUEX.

You said you desired shade and quiet.

SOPHY.

Yes, but not darkness. Fancy me in a grotto all by myself ... by myself...!

QUEX.

[_Behind his paper again._] I'm afraid I have no further suggestion to offer.

[_There is another pause; then her face lights up, and she comes down to him swiftly._

SOPHY.

[_Close to him._] Show me your nails, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Lowering his paper._] My nails?

SOPHY.

[_Taking his hand and examining it._] Excuse me. Oh, my lord, for shame!

QUEX.

You take exception to them?

SOPHY.

This is hacking, not cutting. You ought never to be allowed within a mile of a pair of scissors.

QUEX.

[_Looking at his other hand._] Oh, come! they're hardly as bad as all that.

SOPHY

[_Examining that hand also._] Ha, ha, ha!

QUEX.

[_Rising, somewhat abashed._] Ha! I confess I am a little unskilful at such operations.

SOPHY.

No gentleman should trust to himself where his nails are concerned. Why, a man's hand has lost him a young lady's affections before this! I've heard of heaps of cases where matches have been broken off--

QUEX.

[_Putting his hands behind him, smiling._] Really? the results of manicure are more far-reaching than I had imagined.

SOPHY.

You, see, my lord, when a man's courting he is free to look his young lady in the face for as long as he chooses; it's considered proper and attentive. But the girl is expected to drop _her_ eyes, and then--what has _she_ to look at? Why, a well-trimmed hand or an ugly one. [_Taking off her rings._] Now then, I'll do wonders for you in ten minutes.

QUEX.

Thank you; I am not going indoors just yet.

SOPHY.

No need to go indoors. [_Depositing her rings upon the table and opening her bag._] I've got my bag here, with all my tools--see!

QUEX.

Ah, but I won't trouble you this evening. Another occasion--

SOPHY.

[_Arranging her manicure instruments, &c., upon the table._] No trouble at all, my lord--quite an honour. [_Indicating the stone bench._] Please sit down there. [_Producing a little brass bowl._] Water--?

[_She runs to the fountain and fills her bowl from its basin._

QUEX.

[_Crossing, hesitatingly, to the right--looking at his nails and speaking in a formal manner._] You have been bidden to Fauncey Court for rest and relaxation, Miss Fullgarney; it is most obliging of you to allow your pleasure to be disturbed in this way.

SOPHY.

[_Returning to him._] Oh, don't say that, my lord. [_Putting the bowl on the table and dragging the garden-chair forward to face him._] Business _is_ a pleasure, sometimes.

[_Her close proximity to him forces him back upon the bench._

QUEX.

[_Seated--stiffly._] You must, at least, let me open an account at your excellent establishment.

SOPHY.

Not I. [_Seated--taking his right hand._] One may work occasionally for love, I should hope? [_archly_] ha, ha! just for love, eh?

QUEX

[_Uncomfortably._] No, no, I couldn't permit it--I couldn't permit it.

SOPHY.

[_Holding his hand almost caressingly._] Well, well! we'll see--we'll see. [_She clips his nails briskly and methodically. While she does so she again hums a song, looking up at him at intervals enticingly, under her lashes. Breaking off in her song._] My goodness! what a smooth, young hand you have!

QUEX.

[_His discomfort increasing._] Er--indeed?

SOPHY.

Many a man of six-and-twenty would be glad to own such hands, I can tell you. [_Patting his hand reprovingly._] Keep still! [_It is now his turn to hum a song, which he does, under his breath, to disguise his embarrassment. She looks up at him._] But then, you're an awfully young man for your age, in every way, aren't you?

QUEX.

[_Gazing at the sky._] Oh, I don't know about that.

SOPHY.

[_Slyly._] You _do_ know. [_Wagging her head at him._] You _do_ know.

QUEX.

[_Relaxing slightly._] It may be so, of course, without one's being conscious of it.

SOPHY.

_May_ be so! ah, ha! not conscious of it! ho! [_Slapping his hand again, soundly._] Artful!

QUEX.

[_Flattered and amused._] No, no, I assure you! ha, ha!

[_They laugh together. His constraint gradually diminishes. After shaking some liquid soap from a bottle into the bowl, she places the bowl beside him on the bench._

SOPHY.

[_While doing this._] My young ladies at a-hundred-and-eighty-five all agree with me about you.

QUEX.

Do they?

SOPHY.

Yes, do they!

QUEX.

Your young ladies?

SOPHY.

My girls.

QUEX.

Ha, ha, ha! And what terrible pronouncement has a-hundred-and-eighty-five to pass upon me?

SOPHY.

Seven-and-thirty, _you_ look--not a day older; that's what _we_ say. There, dip your fingers in that, do!

QUEX.

Into this?

SOPHY.

[_Thrusting his fingers into the bowl._] Baby! [_The water splashes over her dress and his coat._] Oh!

QUEX.

I beg your pardon.

SOPHY.

Now what have you done? [_Wiping the water from his coat._] You clumsy boy!

QUEX.

Thanks, thanks.

[_She commences operations upon his left hand. He is now thoroughly entertained by her freedom and audacity._

SOPHY.

Ha, ha! do you know what _I_ maintain?

QUEX.

[_Laughing._] Upon my word, I dread to think.

SOPHY.

Why, that every man who looks younger than his years should be watched by the police.

QUEX.

Good heavens, Sophy--Miss Fullgarney!

SOPHY.

Yes--as a dangerous person.

QUEX.

Dangerous! ho, come!

SOPHY.

[_With the suggestion of a wink._] Dangerous. The man who is younger than he ought to be is always no better than he should be.

QUEX.

Ha, ha, ha!

SOPHY.

Am I right? am I right, eh? [_Putting her cheek near his lips--speaking in a low voice, breathlessly, her eyes averted._] Tell me whether I'm right, my lord.

[_For the first time, a suspicion of her designs crosses his mind. He draws back slowly, eyeing her. There is a pause._

QUEX.

[_In an altered tone, but keeping her in play._] Ha, ha, ha, ha! [_Looking at his watch._] I--I am afraid I shall have to run away to dress for dinner very soon.

SOPHY.

[_Resuming her work, disappointed._] Not yet; you've plenty of time. But there, dangerous or not dangerous, in my heart I can't help holding with what my lady-customers are continually saying.

QUEX.

[_Watching her keenly._] No? and what are your lady-customers continually saying?

SOPHY.

Why, that the young fellows of the day are such conceited, apish creatures; no man under forty-five is worth wasting a minute's time over.

QUEX.

Ho! they say that, your lady-customers?

SOPHY.

Yes; and they're good judges, they are.

QUEX.

Good judges! none better--none better.

SOPHY.

[_Laying her clipper aside suddenly, and putting her hand to her eyes with a cry of pain._] Oh!

QUEX.

[_Coolly._] What's the matter?

SOPHY.

[_Rising._] A little splinter has flown into my eye It often happens.

QUEX.

[_Rising._] Extremely painful, I expect?

SOPHY.

[_Producing her handkerchief._] Very. [_Giving him her handkerchief._] Do you think you could find it?

QUEX.

Certainly, if it's to be found.

SOPHY.

[_Holding the lapels of his coat, her head almost upon his shoulder, her eyes closed._] Ah! please make haste and look for it!

QUEX.

Right or left?

SOPHY.

The ri--the left.

QUEX.

[_Sharply._] Raise your head. Stand up.

SOPHY.

[_Releasing his coat and raising her head._] Eh?

QUEX.

[_Sternly._] Open your eyes. Both of them. [_She opens her eyes and stares at him. He returns her handkerchief._] There! I have removed the splinter. [_She slowly backs away like a whipped child. He follows her._] Miss Fullgarney, I understand you are engaged to be married--to this young man, Valma?

SOPHY.

[_Tremblingly._] Yes, my lord.

QUEX.

Do you care for him?

SOPHY.

[_Faintly._] Yes.

QUEX.

In love with him?

SOPHY.

Oh, yes, my lord, indeed.

QUEX.

And yet you still flirt?

SOPHY.

Y--es.

QUEX.

Take my advice--be satisfied with the kisses your sweetheart gives you. Don't try to get them from other men, old or young.

SOPHY.

No--no--

QUEX.

[_Sternly, but kindly._] You little fool!

POLLITT _enters, wearing a tall hat and lemon-coloured gloves._

POLLITT.

[_Jealously._] Sophy!

[QUEX _walks away._

SOPHY.

[_Falteringly._] The fly-man brought back the bag, Valma dear.

POLLITT.

I am aware of that. [_Lowering his voice._] What are you doing here with Lord Quex?

SOPHY.

I--I've been manicuring him.

_The_ YOUNGER SERVANT _comes down the steps._

SERVANT.

[_To_ SOPHY.] Mrs. Eden is quite ready for you, miss.

[_She hurriedly replaces her manicure instruments, &c., in the bag, hands the bowl to the_ SERVANT, _and, without looking at_ POLLITT _or_ QUEX, _goes swiftly up the steps and disappears. The_ SERVANT _follows her, carrying the bowl._

POLLITT.

[_To_ QUEX.] Excuse me, my lord--

QUEX.

[_Coming forward, and picking up his newspaper._] Eh?

POLLITT.

That young lady and I are engaged to be married.

QUEX.

Mr.--Valma?

POLLITT.

Yes, my lord. [_Hotly._] And I very much object to her manicuring gentlemen.

QUEX.

[_Dryly._] Well, there you have a little something to discuss at home--before, and, perhaps, after marriage.

POLLITT.

I consider the custom of ladies manicuring gentlemen one that may occasionally lead to undue familiarity, my lord.

QUEX.

I am inclined to agree with you, sir.

POLLITT.

And I shall do all I can to persuade Miss Fullgarney to relinquish active participation in the business.

QUEX.

The palmistry profession is a flourishing one at present, eh, Mr. Valma?

POLLITT.

[_Loftily._] My engagement-book is always full. I have disappointed several ladies by coming here this afternoon.

QUEX.

Poor women! Nevertheless, pray be careful how you slight the manicure trade. Crazes die, you know--nails grow.

POLLITT.

[_Tapping his breast._] I think _we_ have come to stay, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Lightly._] Well, you're sailing pretty close to the wind, remember, you fellows.

POLLITT.

My lord!

QUEX.