Perhaps you imagine--?

MURIEL.

Be quiet, Sophy!

SOPHY.

[_Giving a sniff and lowering her voice._] Well, here they were, standing exactly where you are, close to each other. [MURIEL _changes her position._] I saw her touch his arm. Oh, I'm positive there's something between those two! "You will?" I heard her say. And then he made a remark about Friday--Friday--

MURIEL.

The d.u.c.h.ess goes on Friday.

SOPHY.

That was it, of course! And then she mumbled something I couldn't catch; and then--listen to this!--then she said "to-night," quite plainly.

_To-night!_ and in such a tone of voice! And then he bowed, and out she came with "to-night" again--"to-night," for the second time--and away she went. Now, what do you think that "to-night" of hers means?

MURIEL.

[_Coldly, seating herself upon the bench._] Nothing--anything.

SOPHY.

Nothing!

MURIEL.

A hundred topics of conversation would lead to such an expression.

[_Looking at_ SOPHY _steadily._] You are mistaken in the construction you put upon it.

SOPHY.

[_Quietly._] Mistaken, am I?

MURIEL.

[_With clenched hands._] The d.u.c.h.ess of Strood is a most immaculate woman. [_Suddenly._] Oh, it would be too infamous!

[_The_ d.u.c.h.eSS _and_ FRAYNE, _followed by_ MRS. EDEN, _reappear behind the low hedge._ SOPHY _retreats to the back of the bench upon which_ MURIEL _is sitting. The_ d.u.c.h.eSS _and_ FRAYNE _approach, talking, while_ MRS. EDEN _chats to_ SOPHY _across the hedge._

FRAYNE.

[_To the_ d.u.c.h.eSS, _gallantly._] I am flattered by your remembrance of me, d.u.c.h.ess. When we last met I had hardly a grey hair in my head.

[_Running his hand through his hair._] Ha! The West Coast--!

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Is the climate so terrible?

FRAYNE.

Deadly. But the worst of it is, [_with a bow and a sigh_] we have no European ladies.

[MURIEL--_eyeing the_ d.u.c.h.eSS--_rises, shrinkingly, and steals away._

FRAYNE.

[_Looking after_ MURIEL.] Quex! ha, there's a lucky dog, now!

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Sweetly._] You are delighted, naturally, at your old friend's approaching marriage?

FRAYNE.

[_Kissing his finger-tips towards the left._] Miss Eden--!

[_Inquisitively._] And--and _you_, d.u.c.h.ess?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Raising her eyebrows._] I?

FRAYNE.

You also approve his choice?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Blandly._] Approve? I am scarcely sufficiently intimate with either party to express approval or disapproval.

FRAYNE.

[_Eyeing her askance._] Pardon. I thought you had known Quex for--ah--some years.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Quite superficially. I should describe him rather as a great friend of his Grace.

LADY OWBRIDGE _appears on the top of the steps._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Are you here, d.u.c.h.ess?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Turning to her._] Yes.