QUEX.

At the end of the year; a.s.suming, of course--

FRAYNE.

That you continue to behave prettily? [QUEX _a.s.sents, with a wave of the hand._] The slightest lapse on your part--?

QUEX.

Impossible.

FRAYNE.

But it would--?

QUEX.

[_A little impatiently._] Naturally.

FRAYNE.

Well, six months pa.s.s quickly--everywhere but on the West Coast of Africa.

QUEX.

And then--you shall be my best man, Chick, if you're still home.

FRAYNE.

[_Rising._] Hah! I never thought--

QUEX.

[_Rising._] No; I who always laughed at marriage as a dull depravity permitted to the respectable cla.s.ses! I who always maintained that man's whole duty to woman--meaning his mistresses--that a man's duty to a woman is liberally discharged when he has made a settlement on her, or stuck her into his will! [_Blowing the ideas from him._] Phugh!

[_He goes to the little table, and examines the objects upon it._

FRAYNE.

[_Following him._] Talking of--ah--mistresses I suppose you've--?

QUEX.

Oh, yes, they're all--

FRAYNE.

Made happy and comfortable?

QUEX.

I've done my utmost.

FRAYNE.

Mrs.--?

QUEX.

[_Rather irritably._] I say, all of them.

FRAYNE.

No trouble with Lady--?

QUEX.

No, no, no, no.

FRAYNE.

What about the little d.u.c.h.ess? [QUEX _pauses in his examination of a nail-clipper._] Eh?

QUEX.

[_Turning to him, slightly embarra.s.sed._] Odd that you should mention her.

FRAYNE.

Why?

QUEX.

She's staying at Fauncey Court also.

FRAYNE.

The d.u.c.h.ess!

QUEX.

She proposed herself for a visit. I dared not raise any objection, for her reputation's sake; the ladies would have suspected at once. You're one of the few, Chick, who ever got an inkling of that business.

FRAYNE.

Very awkward!

QUEX.