[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Pray don't be in the least concerned for me, dear Lady Owbridge; the absence of my maid is quite a temporary matter. Poor Watson's father is unwell and I packed her off to him this afternoon. She will be back by mid-day to-morrow, she promises me. LADY OWBRIDGE. But, dear me! in the meantime my own woman shall wait upon you. DUCHESS. I couldn't dream of it. MRS. EDEN. Why not my Gilchrist--or let us share her? DUCHESS. No, no; the housemaid who assisted me into this gown-- LADY OWBRIDGE. Chalmers? well, there's Chalmers, certainly. But I fear that Chalmers has hot hands. Or Denham--no, Denham is suffering from a bad knee. Of course, there's Bruce! Bruce is painfully near-sighted--but would Bruce do? Or little Atkins--? SOPHY. [_Stepping from behind the bench, and confronting_ LADY OWBRIDGE--_in a quiet voice._] Or I, my lady? LADY OWBRIDGE. You, my dear? SOPHY. Why shouldn't _I_ attend upon her Grace to-night and in the morning? [_With half a courtesy to the_ DUCHESS.] I should dearly like to have the honour. [MURIEL _comes forward, staring at_ SOPHY. MRS. EDEN. Now, that's very proper and good-natured of you, Sophy. LADY OWBRIDGE. But, Miss Fullgarney-- SOPHY. [_Modestly._] Oh, I never feel like Miss Fullgarney out of my business, my lady. You see, I was maid for years, and it's second nature to me. Do let me, my lady--do, your Grace! LADY OWBRIDGE. Duchess--? DUCHESS. [_Hesitatingly._] Oh--oh, by all means. [_To_ SOPHY.] Thank you. [_The gong sounds in the distance again, as_ QUEX--_now in evening-dress--and_ FRAYNE _return together, above the hedge._ LADY OWBRIDGE. Here is Quex. [_The ladies, except_ MURIEL, _join_ FRAYNE _and_ QUEX. MURIEL. [_To_ SOPHY.] What are you doing? SOPHY. [_Breathlessly._] The housekeeper showed me over the house. I remember--her maid's room is at the end of a passage leading from the boudoir! MURIEL. Sophy, you must not! you sha'n't! SOPHY. Why, isn't it for the best? If I was mistaken over what I heard just now, I sha'n't see or hear anything wicked to-night; and that will satisfy both of us--! LADY OWBRIDGE. [_Calling._] Muriel-- [MURIEL _joins the group;_ SOPHY _slips away and disappears._ LADY OWBRIDGE. [_To the_ DUCHESS.] Shall we go in? [LADY OWBRIDGE _and the_ DUCHESS, _and_ MRS. EDEN _and_ MURIEL, _ascend the steps and go towards the house. Instead, of following the ladies,_ QUEX _turns sharply and comes forward with an angry, sullen look upon his face._ FRAYNE. [_Looking round for_ QUEX.] Hallo, Harry! [_Coming to_ QUEX.] Aren't you--? QUEX. Hang dinner! I don't want to eat. FRAYNE. Anything wrong, old man? anything I--? QUEX. [_Shaking himself up._] No, no; nothing--the hot weather. Come along; we mustn't be late for grace. [_Boisterously._] At any rate, a glass of champagne--[_slapping_ FRAYNE _on the back_] a glass or two of Félix Poubelle, hey? Félix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! ha, ha, ha!