The Gay Lord Quex by Arthur W. Pinero


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Page 105

[_Whose back is to the window._] I say--mind, no tales.

SOPHY.

[_Looking at_ MURIEL _steadily over_ BASTLING'S _shoulder._] Likely I'd
split on you, isn't it?

BASTLING.

Honour bright?

SOPHY.

Oh, if you've any doubt--

[_He raises her face to his and kisses her upon the lips warmly and
lingeringly. She goes back a step or two, still gazing fixedly at_
MURIEL.

BASTLING.

Eh--?

[_Following the direction of her eyes, he turns and encounters_ MURIEL.
_The three stand for a moment or two without movement._

BASTLING.

[_After the pause, speaking in a low voice, his eyes avoiding_
MURIEL'S.] Well--ha!--I suppose every man makes a big mistake at least
once in his life. I've made mine. At the same time, I--I--[_hurriedly_]
oh, I'll write.

[_With a slight, quick bow to_ MURIEL, _he wheels round sharply and goes
out._

SOPHY.

[_Wiping his kiss from her lips._] The wretch! the wretch!

[_The door-gong sounds._

MURIEL.

[_Covering her eyes with her hand and uttering a low moan._] Oh--!

SOPHY.

[_Hanging her head._] You see, darling, yesterday at Fauncey Court, I--I
tried it on with Lord Quex, and he behaved like a gentleman. So the
notion struck me that I'd treat the young man in the same way, just to
see what _he_ was made of, and--well, I'm glad you came in. You might
never have believed me.

MURIEL.

[_In a hard voice._] The shirt-stud--the stuff I wrote--I left them with
you--

SOPHY.

[_Producing them._] I found them after you'd gone.

[MURIEL _takes the piece of paper and tears it into small pieces._ SOPHY
_offers her the jeweller's case._

MURIEL.

[_Haughtily._] Take that back to Gressier's this afternoon, please, and
tell them I've changed my mind. Say I'll have a little silver collar for
my dog, in its place.

[_She sinks into the screen-chair, with her eyes closed. Slipping the
case into her pocket,_ SOPHY _tip-toes up to the door in the partition;
she opens it and beckons to_ QUEX, _who appears with_ FRAYNE.

SOPHY.

[_To_ QUEX, _in a whisper._] Phsst! It's all nicely settled. She's said
good-bye to him for good. What a fuss you made about nothing!

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sat 27th Dec 2025, 6:07