SOPHY.

[To BASTLING, taking the soap from him—­raising her voice.] Thank you—­much obliged. [Transferring the soap to MISS LIMBIRD and relieving her of the bowl of water.] For Captain Bastling, with a bottle of Fleur de Lilas.

[MISS LIMBIRD returns to her desk; SOPHY deposits the bowl of water upon the arm of the screen-chair; BASTLING fetches his hat, and gives some directions to MISS LIMBIRD.

MURIEL.

[To SOPHY, in a whisper.] Sophy, these extravagances on his part!  I am the cause of them! he is not in the least well off!

SOPHY.

Don’t worry; it’s all booked.  Ha, ha! bless him, he’ll never get his account from me! [BASTLING, with a parting glance in the direction of MURIEL and SOPHY, goes out.] He’s gone.

[MISS LIMBIRD also goes out, carrying the bowl of bath-soap.

MURIEL.

[With a sigh of relief.] Oh!

SOPHY.

[Coming to her.] We’re by ourselves for a minute.  Give me a good hug. [Embracing her.] My dear! my darling! ha, ha, ha! you shall be the first to hear of it—­I’m engaged.

MURIEL.

Sophy! to whom?

SOPHY.

To Mr. Valma, the great palmist.

MURIEL.

What, the young man you’ve talked to me about—­next door? [Kissing her.] I hope you are doing well for yourself, dear.

SOPHY.

He’s simply perfect! he’s—! oh, how can I be such a brute, talking of my own happiness—! [In an altered tone.] Darling, Captain Bastling’s regiment is going to be sent off to Hong-Kong.

MURIEL.

[After a pause—­commanding herself.] When?

SOPHY.

In about a fortnight.

MURIEL.

[Frigidly.] Is this what you had to tell me, from him?

SOPHY.

Yes, and that he must see you to-morrow, alone.  I’ll arrange it.  Can you manage to be here at twelve?

MURIEL.

I daresay, somehow.

SOPHY.

[Looking at her in surprise.] I thought you’d be more upset.

MURIEL.

[Taking SOPHY’S hand.] The truth is, Sophy—­I’m glad.

SOPHY.

Glad!

MURIEL.

Awfully glad the chance has come of putting an end to all this.  Oh, I’ve been treating him shockingly!

SOPHY.

Him?

MURIEL.

Lord Quex!

SOPHY.

[Impatiently.] Oh! pooh!

MURIEL.

[Leaving SOPHY.] Yes, after to-morrow he sha’n’t find me looking a guilty fool whenever he speaks to me—­by Jove, he sha’n’t!  I believe he guessed I haven’t seen Moses in the Bulrushes!

SOPHY.

But, dear, how do you know what Captain Bastling means to say to you to-morrow?