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Page 30
[_Serenely._] An acquaintance of many years' standing. But since his
Grace has been an invalid we have lived much abroad, or in seclusion,
and gossip has not reached us. Alas, you find me a ready subject _�
d�sillusionner_! [_Rising._] We are in the sun. Shall we walk?
MRS. EDEN.
[_Sympathetically, as they walk._] Is his Grace still very unwell?
DUCHESS.
[_Smiling sadly upon_ MRS. EDEN.] He is still over seventy.
[_They wander away, through the trees, as_ QUEX _and_ MURIEL _leave the
fountain._
QUEX.
[_With tender playfulness, first glancing at the sleeping_ LADY
OWBRIDGE.] And so all these good things are to befall me after
to-morrow?
MURIEL.
[_In a low voice._] After to-morrow.
QUEX.
When I approach, I shall no longer see you skim away into the far vista
of these alleys, or shrink back into the shadows of the
corridors--[_prosaically_] after to-morrow.
MURIEL.
No--not after to-morrow.
QUEX.
In place of a cold word, a chilling phrase, a warm one--after to-morrow.
MURIEL.
I am going to try.
QUEX.
If I touch your hand, you'll not slip it behind your back in a hurry
[_touching her hand_]--?
MURIEL.
[_Withdrawing it._] Not after to-morrow.
[_She sits; he stands behind the stone bench, leaning over the back of
it._
QUEX.
But why, may I ask, is this bliss reserved till after _to-morrow_?
MURIEL.
I had rather you did _not_ ask me, Quex.
QUEX.
No? I see, I am a day too soon in putting even that little question.
MURIEL.
Ah, I'll tell you this--I am going to turn over a new leaf, after
to-morrow.
QUEX.
You! your pages are all milk-white. What can you detect upon one of them
to induce you to turn it?
MURIEL.
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