[_He goes to the window and looks into the street._ FRAYNE _joins him._ SOPHY, _seizing her opportunity comes down to_ POLLITT. SOPHY. [_To_ POLLITT.] Valma dear, you see that man? POLLITT. Which of the two? SOPHY. The dark one. That's Lord Quex--the wickedest man in London. POLLITT. He looks it. [_Jealously._] Have you ever cut his nails? SOPHY. No, love, no. Oh, I've heard such tales about him! POLLITT. What tales? SOPHY. I'll tell you, [_demurely_] when we're married. And the worst of it is, he is engaged to Miss Eden. POLLITT. Who is she? SOPHY. Miss Muriel Eden, my foster-sister; the dearest friend I have in the world--except you, sweetheart. It was Muriel and her brother Jack who put me into this business. And now my darling is to be sacrificed to that gay old thing--! [_The door-gong sounds;_ QUEX _turns expectantly._ POLLITT. If Miss Eden is your foster-sister-- SOPHY. Yes, of course, she's six-and-twenty. But the poor girl has been worried into it by her sister-in-law, Mrs. Jack, whose one idea is Title and Position. Title and Position with that old rake by her side! MISS LIMBIRD _enters, preceding_ CAPTAIN BASTLING--_a smart, soldierly-looking man of about eight-and-twenty._ MISS LIMBIRD _returns to her seat at the desk._ SOPHY. [_Seeing_ BASTLING.] My gracious! POLLITT. What's the matter? QUEX. [_Recognising_ BASTLING _and greeting him._] Hallo, Napier! how are you? BASTLING. [_Shaking hands with_ QUEX.] Hallo, Quex! QUEX. What are you doing here? SOPHY. [_To_ POLLITT.] Phew! I hope to goodness Lord Quex won't tumble to anything. POLLITT. Tumble--to what? [QUEX _introduces_ BASTLING _to_ FRAYNE. SOPHY. You don't understand; it's Captain Bastling--the man Muriel is really fond of. POLLITT. What, while she's engaged--? SOPHY. [_With clenched hands._] Yes, and she shall marry him too, my darling shall, if I can help to bring it about. POLLITT. You? SOPHY. Bless 'em, I don't know how they'd contrive without me! POLLITT. Contrive--? SOPHY. [_Fondly._] You old stupid! whenever Muriel is coming to be manicured she sends Captain Bastling a warning overnight; [_squeezing_ POLLITT'S _arm, roguishly_] this kind of thing--"My heart is heavy and my nails are long. To-morrow--three-thirty." Ha, ha, ha! POLLITT. Dearest, let me advise you-- SOPHY. [_Her hand upon his lips._] Ah, don't lecture! [BASTLING _saunters forward to attract_ SOPHY'S _attention._] Oh--! [_To_ POLLITT, _hurriedly._] Go now. Pop in again by-and-by. [_Caressingly._] Um-m-m! my love! [POLLITT _goes out by the window._ SOPHY. [_Joining_ BASTLING--_formally._] Good day, Captain Bastling. BASTLING. Good afternoon, Miss Fullgarney. SOPHY. [_Dropping her voice._] She'll be here in a minute. BASTLING. [_In low tones_--_making a show of examining the articles on the circular table._] Yes, I had a note from her this morning. [_Glancing at_ QUEX.] Confounded nuisance--! SOPHY.