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Page 21
In about a fortnight.
MURIEL.
[_Frigidly._] Is this what you had to tell me, from him?
SOPHY.
Yes, and that he must see you to-morrow, alone. I'll arrange it. Can you
manage to be here at twelve?
MURIEL.
I daresay, somehow.
SOPHY.
[_Looking at her in surprise._] I thought you'd be more upset.
MURIEL.
[_Taking_ SOPHY'S _hand._] The truth is, Sophy--I'm glad.
SOPHY.
Glad!
MURIEL.
Awfully glad the chance has come of putting an end to all this. Oh, I've
been treating him shockingly!
SOPHY.
Him?
MURIEL.
Lord Quex!
SOPHY.
[_Impatiently._] Oh! pooh!
MURIEL.
[_Leaving_ SOPHY.] Yes, after to-morrow he sha'n't find me looking a
guilty fool whenever he speaks to me--by Jove, he sha'n't! I believe he
guessed I haven't seen Moses in the Bulrushes!
SOPHY.
But, dear, how do you know what Captain Bastling means to say to you
to-morrow?
MURIEL.
[_Pausing in her walk._] To say?--good-bye.
SOPHY.
Suppose he asks you to put him out of his misery--marry him directly, on
the quiet?
MURIEL.
[_A little unsteadily._] Then I shall tell him finally--my word is given
to Lord Quex.
SOPHY.
[_Coming to her again._] Given!--wrung out of you. And just for that
you'll lose the chance of being happy--all your life--with the man you--
[_She turns away, and sits, on the right of the circular table, blowing
her nose._
MURIEL.
[_At_ SOPHY'S _side, desperately._] But I tell you, Sophy, I love Lord
Quex.
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