[_Embracing her._] My dear! my darling! ha, ha, ha! you shall be the first to hear of it--I'm engaged.

MURIEL.

Sophy! to whom?

SOPHY.

To Mr. Valma, the great palmist.

MURIEL.

What, the young man you've talked to me about--next door? [_Kissing her._] I hope you are doing well for yourself, dear.

SOPHY.

He's simply perfect! he's--! oh, how can I be such a brute, talking of my own happiness--! [_In an altered tone._] Darling, Captain Bastling's regiment is going to be sent off to Hong-Kong.

MURIEL.

[_After a pause--commanding herself._] When?

SOPHY.

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.

SOPHY.

You may _tell_ me.