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Page 34
DUCHESS.
[_In a whisper._] Harry--
QUEX.
[_Startled._] Eh?
DUCHESS.
I will hurry into my gown and return. Be here in a quarter of an hour.
QUEX.
May I ask--the reason?
DUCHESS.
[_A newspaper in her hand--talking to him, in undertones, over the top
of it._] For a week, only the merest commonplaces have passed between
us. I must relieve my heart; it is bursting!
QUEX.
I entreat you to consider my position.
DUCHESS.
Yours! have _I_ no reputation to endanger? [_Rising--laying the paper
aside._] What a pitiably small request! you will grant it?
QUEX.
If you could see your way to excuse me--
DUCHESS.
In memory of the past--! I demand it!
QUEX.
[_With a stiff bow._] Oh--oh, certainly.
DUCHESS.
[_Leaving him._] Thank you.
QUEX.
[_To himself._] Damn!
[_He turns on his heel and walks away._
DUCHESS.
[_Joining_ MURIEL.] You are coming to dress?
MURIEL.
[_After smiling assent, presenting_ SOPHY.] Miss Fullgarney was my first
playmate, Duchess.
DUCHESS.
[_Looking upon_ SOPHY _graciously._] Ah? [_To_ MURIEL.] The souvenirs of
childhood are sweet, are they not?
[_She slips her arm through_ MURIEL'S, _and they ascend the steps and go
away together._ SOPHY _comes to the stone bench on the left, upon which
she deposits her bag. She opens the bag, produces a little mirror and a
comb, and puts her "fringe" in order--humming as she does so an air from
the latest comic opera. Then she returns the comb and mirror to the bag
and--bag in hand--prepares to depart. While this is going on_ QUEX
_returns, above the low hedge. He ascends the steps and looks off into
the distance, watching the retreating figure of the_ DUCHESS. _After a
moment or two he shrugs his shoulders in a perplexed, troubled way,
and, coming down the steps, encounters_ SOPHY.
SOPHY.
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