[_His jaw falling._] You wouldn't?

FRAYNE.

No.

QUEX.

Phew! _I_ should. [_Warmly._] By Jove, I should!

FRAYNE.

I have conceived a great aversion to her--a long, scraggy gal.

QUEX.

[_With enthusiasm._] As full of courage as a thoroughbred!

FRAYNE.

[_Closing his eyes._] I can picture her elbows; sharp, pointed elbows--the barbed fence of the spiteful woman.

QUEX.

Pooh! yesterday she was alluring.

FRAYNE.

[_Rising painfully._] Yesterday--! [_Gravely._] Harry, do you know there are moments when I feel that I am changing towards the s.e.x; when I fancy I can discern the skeleton, as it were, through the rounded cheek?

QUEX.

You!

FRAYNE.

Yes, this novel sentiment is undoubtedly gaining possession of your old friend--gradually, perhaps, but surely.

QUEX.

[_Regarding him searchingly._] Excuse me, Chick--did you turn into the Beefsteak when you got back from Richmond last night?

FRAYNE.

For an hour. Oh, a great mistake.

QUEX.

What, a little whisky on the top of champagne?

FRAYNE.

[_Gazing pathetically at_ QUEX _with watery eyes._] A good deal of champagne underneath a lot of whisky.

[_The door-gong sounds._

QUEX.

Who's this? [_He walks to the entrance, and looks into the further room._] The Fullgarney.

[_He returns to his former position, as_ SOPHY _enters quickly followed by_ MISS CLARIDGE, MISS MOON, _and_ MISS HUDDLE. SOPHY--_dressed as at the end of the First Act--is pale, red-eyed, and generally unstrung. She comes to_ QUEX, _disconcerted by his presence._

SOPHY.

[_Confronting him._] Oh, good morning.

QUEX.

May I beg a few moments--?

SOPHY.

Er--certainly. I'll just take off my things--

[_He joins_ FRAYNE. _She goes across the room where she is surrounded by her girls._

MISS CLARIDGE.

Oh, Miss Fullgarney, how ill you look!

MISS MOON.

You do seem queer!

MISS HUDDLE.

Just as if you were sickening for something.

MISS LIMBIRD.

[_Coming between_ MISS CLARIDGE _and_ SOPHY.] Quite ghostly!

SOPHY.

I'm all right, girls; I've had a bad night, that's all. [_Giving her umbrella to_ MISS CLARIDGE _and her bag to_ MISS MOON, _who pa.s.ses it to_ MISS HUDDLE.] Here! hi! take that beastly bag. [_To_ MISS LIMBIRD, _who is removing her hat._] Oh, don't waggle my head, whatever you do!

[_To_ MISS MOON, _who is pulling at her jacket._] Tear the thing off.

[_Stripping off her gloves, and speaking in a whisper._] Girls, I don't want to be disturbed for five minutes.

MISS LIMBIRD.