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.