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Page 107
LADY OWBRIDGE.
What ails you, Henry?
QUEX.
Muriel! she--she--she's going to marry me!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
I hope so.
QUEX.
But at the end of the Season! a month hence! a month, a month, a month!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
My dear boy! Heaven prosper your union! Muriel--
MRS. EDEN.
[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Isn't this glorious news, Lady Owbridge? But I
always thought it unwise to protract the engagement. You never know
_what_ may happen, do you? I must tell the dear Duchess--
[_She joins the_ DUCHESS _and_ FRAYNE, _and chatters to them._
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_To_ MURIEL, _in a low voice._] Muriel, you are right. In this life, if
you have anything to pardon, pardon quickly. Slow forgiveness is little
better than no forgiveness.
MRS. EDEN.
[_Coming to_ QUEX.] Congratulate you.
QUEX.
Thanks.
[LADY OWBRIDGE _moves away, joining the_ DUCHESS, _as_ MRS. EDEN
_returns to_ MURIEL.
MRS. EDEN.
[_Kissing_ MURIEL.] You sensible girl!
[FRAYNE _comes to_ QUEX.
FRAYNE.
[_To_ QUEX, _mournfully._] Old chap, this is shockingly sudden.
QUEX.
Ha, ha!
FRAYNE.
However, we must contrive, you and I, to pass one more evening together
before the event.
QUEX.
One! many!
FRAYNE.
No, no, I mean a buster, Harry; a regular night of it--
QUEX.
Good lord! go away!
[MRS. EDEN _joins_ LADY OWBRIDGE _as_ FRAYNE _advances to_ MURIEL.
FRAYNE.
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