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.