[_Rising, and grasping his hands._] Oh, Harry! QUEX. Tsch! please! [_He releases himself and she sinks back upon the settee, her eyes closed. He regards her uncomfortably for a moment; then, with some hesitation, he produces from his coat-tail pocket a small box covered with a pretty brocade, with which he toys uneasily._] You expressed a wish to leave here on Friday with a sensation of despair at your heart, Sidonia. If your feeling about our parting is really a deep one, heaven knows I have no desire to make it more acute-- DUCHESS. [_Partly opening her eyes._] What is in that box, Harry? QUEX. That is just what I was about to--to--[_Lifting the lid and closing it._] These are the little souvenirs which have passed from you to me at odd times. DUCHESS. [_With reviving interest._] Ah, yes. QUEX. I have had no other opportunity--[_Looking about him awkwardly for a place to deposit the box._] Will you--? shall I--? what the devil's to become of 'em? DUCHESS. [_Sitting upright and passing her hand over her back hair._] Were there a fire, we could crouch over it and watch the flames consume them one by one. QUEX. But there isn't a fire. DUCHESS. [_Rising, and taking the box from him._] Let us examine them. QUEX. No, no, no. DUCHESS. Yes, yes. [_Opening the box and gazing into it._] Ah, poor little objects! dead, yet animate; silent, yet, oh, how eloquent! Don't go away--[_She overturns the contents of the box on to the table. They stand opposite each other, looking down upon the litter. She picks up a ring._] A ring--[_thoughtfully_] turquoise and pearl. [_Recollecting._] Stockholm! You remember--that night you and I sat watching the lights of the café on the Norrbro--! QUEX. [_Hastily._] Yes, yes; you've recalled it already to-day. DUCHESS. [_Picking up a scarf-pin._] A scarf-pin. Copenhagen! Ah, that pretty state-room of mine on the _Irene_! QUEX. Yes, yes, charming. DUCHESS. [_Taking up a locket._] A locket--my name in brilliants. Genoa! Look, it still contains my hair. QUEX. [_Nodding._] H'm, um. DUCHESS. [_Taking up a white shoe._] My shoe. Where--? QUEX. [_Shaking his head._] I don't-- DUCHESS. Mentone! QUEX. Of course--Mentone. DUCHESS. [_Discovering some object in the shoe._] What is this? [_Producing a garter of pale-blue silk, with a diamond buckle._] A--a--where--? ah, yes. [_Replacing the things in the box._] Oh, the poor little objects! dead, yet animate; silent, yet, oh, how eloquent! [_She passes him and slips the box into the drawer of the writing-table. The clock strikes a quarter to twelve._ QUEX. [_Glancing at the clock._] By Jove, it's late! I--I'll leave you now, Sidonia. DUCHESS. [_Turning._] No, no--not yet, Harry. [_Coming to the table and taking up the box of cigarettes._] Why, you forget--[_offering him the box_] Argyropulos! QUEX. [_Accepting a cigarette reluctantly._] Thanks. [_Again looking at the clock._] Well--three minutes. DUCHESS.