Second reason?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

That our parting might be in keeping with our great attachment!

QUEX.

Impossible.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Impracticable?

QUEX.

In every way, impossible.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Taking his hand._] Oh, don't say that, dear Harry! Ah, the auguries tell me that what I ask will be.

QUEX.

[_Omitting, in his anxiety, to withdraw his hand._] The auguries?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Fate--coincidence--call it what you please--foreshadows one more meeting between us.

QUEX.

Coincidence?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Intensely, in a low voice._] Harry, do you remember a particular evening at Stockholm?

QUEX.

[_Hazily._] Stockholm?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

That evening upon which we discovered how much our society meant to each other!

QUEX.

[_Vaguely, while he hastily recovers possession of his hand._] At Stockholm was it--?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

You were sailing with us in the Baltic--you must recollect? Our yacht had put in at Stockholm; we had come to the Grand Hotel. Strood had retired, and you and I were sitting out upon the balcony watching the lights of the cafe on the Norrbro and the tiny steamboats that stole to and fro across the harbour. Surely you recollect?

QUEX.

Yes, yes, of course.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Well, do you remember the brand of the champagne you sipped while you and I sat smoking?

QUEX.

Good lord, no!

d.u.c.h.eSS.

"Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or." You remarked that it was a brand unknown to you. Have you ever met it since, Harry?

QUEX.

Not that I--

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Nor I till last night, at dinner. [_Impressively._] It is in this very house.

QUEX.

[_With a slight shrug of the shoulders._] Extremely probable.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

And do you remember how I was clad, that evening at Stockholm?

QUEX.

I am afraid I don't.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

_Couleur de rose garnie de vert_. I have just such another garment with me.

QUEX.

Really?

d.u.c.h.eSS.