FRAYNE.

There’s another of ’em.  Plain. [Watching MISS MOON as she goes out.] I don’t know—­rather alluring. [Finding QUEX by his side.] Beg your pardon.

QUEX.

Didn’t hear you.

FRAYNE.

Glad of it.  At the same time, old friend, you will forgive me for remarking that a man’s virtuous resolutions must be—­ha, ha!—­somewhat feeble, hey?—­when he flinches at the mere admiration of beauty on the part of a pal, connoisseur through that pal undoubtedly is.

QUEX.

Oh, my dear Chick, my resolutions are firm enough.

FRAYNE.

[Dubiously.] H’m!

QUEX.

And my prudery is consistent with the most laudable intentions, I assure you.  But the fact is, dear chap, I go in fear and trembling—­

FRAYNE.

Ah!

QUEX.

No, no, not for my strength of mind—­fear lest any trivial act of mine, however guileless; the most innocent glance in the direction of a decent-looking woman; should be misinterpreted by the good ladies in whose hands I have placed myself—­especially aunt Julia.  You remember Lady Owbridge?

FRAYNE.

Why did you intrust yourself—?

QUEX.

My one chance! [Taking FRAYNE to the table, against which they both lean shoulder to shoulder—­his voice falling into a strain of tenderness.] Chick, when I fell in love with Miss Eden—­

FRAYNE.

[In sentimental retrospection.] Fell in love! what memories are awakened by the dear old phrase!

QUEX.

[Dryly.] Yes.  Will you talk about your love affairs, Chick, or shall I—?

FRAYNE.

Certainly—­you.  Go on, Harry.

QUEX.

When I proposed marriage to Miss Eden—­it was at the hunt-ball at
Stanridge—­

FRAYNE.

[His eyes sparkling.] Did you select a retired corner—­with flowers—­by any chance?

QUEX.

There were flowers.

FRAYNE.

I know—­I know!  Nearly twenty years ago, and the faint scent of the Gardenia Florida remains in my nostrils!

QUEX.

Quite so.  Would you like to—?

FRAYNE.

[Sitting.] No, no—­you.  Excuse me.  You go on.

QUEX.

[Sitting on the edge of the table, looking down upon FRAYNE.] When I proposed to Miss Eden I was certain—­even while I was stammering it out—­I was certain that my infernal evil character—­

FRAYNE.

Ah, yes.  I’ve always been a dooced deal more artful than you, Harry, over my little amours. [Chuckling.] Ha, ha! devilish cunning!

QUEX.

And I was right.  Her first words were, “Think of your life; how can you ask this of me?”—­her first words and her last, that evening.  I was desperate, Chick, for I—­Well, I’m hit, you know.