[_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.