[_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.