QUEX.

[_Turning._] Eh?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Pointing to the bottle of champagne._] "Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or"!

[_Taking up the scissors which she has left upon the table._] The wire is already severed.

[_She commences to cut the string. He comes to her._

QUEX.

[_Taking the scissors from her._] Oh, permit me.

[_Always intent upon avoiding her, he moves away, the bottle in his hand, cutting the string._

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Following him._] Is it likely to make a loud report?

QUEX.

Hardly.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Frowning censoriously._] One doesn't want a sound of that sort to ring through the corridors. [_Looking about her impatiently._] These formal, frigid rooms!

[_She runs lightly into the bedroom, s.n.a.t.c.hes a pillow from the bed, and returns to him._

QUEX.

[_His hand upon the cork._] What is that for?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Enveloping his hand and the bottle in the pillow--calmly._] It is wiser to m.u.f.fle it.

[_He pauses, looking at her fixedly._

QUEX.

[_In a low, grave voice._] Dolly--

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Dolly! [_Closing her eyes._] You give me my pet name again!

QUEX.

Ah, Dolly, if only there wasn't quite so much in one's life--to m.u.f.fle!

[_He pulls the cork. She tosses the pillow on to the settee, a little irritably._] May I--?

[_She inclines her head. He pours wine into the gla.s.ses; she takes the champagne gla.s.s, he the tumbler._

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Sentimentally._] Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! [_Looking at him over the brim of her gla.s.s._] _Eh bien! au joyeux pa.s.se!_

QUEX.

_Non, non--a un avenir meilleur!_

d.u.c.h.eSS.

_Que vous etes prosaque! soit!_ [_They drink. She sits, with a sigh of dissatisfaction._] Ah!

QUEX.

[_Leaning against the table, drinking his wine._] Wonderful wine--really exceptional. [_Struck by a thought, turning to her._] Forgive me--you must have found some difficulty in introducing Monsieur Felix Poubelle into this hallowed apartment.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

No. [_Sipping her wine._] My maid thinks it is by my doctor's orders.

QUEX.

Your maid, yes--[_sipping his wine; then sitting upon the settee, gla.s.s in hand_] but my poor aunt must be highly scandalised.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Her gla.s.s at her lips._] Dear Lady Owbridge will not know. I told the girl to coax it out of the butler, as if it were for herself. These women have a way of doing such things.

QUEX.

[_Laughing rather sadly._] Ha, ha, ha! who is beyond temptation? Not even old Bristow--sixty if he's a day.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

[_Shrugging her shoulders._] Sixty or sixteen--when a girl is fascinating--

QUEX.

Fascinating! your woman, Watson!

d.u.c.h.eSS.

No, no--Watson has left me for a few hours. I am speaking of Sophy.