SOPHY.

[Tripping across the room.] Good-day, my lord.

QUEX.

[Joining FRAYNE.] Are you coming, Chick?

FRAYNE.

[Taking the parcel from MISS MOON, and turning to QUEX, rather bitterly.] I say, that gal has made me buy something I don’t want.  They stick you here frightfully—­

QUEX.

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

[They go out together.

SOPHY.

[Adjusting her hair at the mirror.] Come, girls! look alive! no more work for me to-day!  I’m off home to change my frock.  I’ve got an invite down to Richmond.  My hat and coat!

[The door-gong sounds. MISS MOON disappears at the door in the partition. MISS HUDDLE enters.

SOPHY.

Miss Hud-delle, please run next door, and ask Mr. Valma to step this way for a moment.

MISS HUDDLE.

He’s on the leads, Miss Fullgarney, smoking a cigarette.

SOPHY.

[Running across to the window.] Get my bag of tools ready! sharp! [MISS HUDDLE and MISS LIMBIRD go out; SOPHY opens the window and calls.] Valma!  Valma!  Valma!

[MISS MOON returns with SOPHY’S hat, coat, gloves and umbrella.

MISS MOON.

Your things, Miss Fullgarney.

SOPHY.

[Taking them from her.] Send for a hansom—­a smart one.

[MISS MOON runs out as VALMA enters at the window.

SOPHY.

[Breathlessly.] Valma—­Valma, love!  I’ve got an invite down to Richmond—­Lady Owbridge—­she’s asked me specially!  I’m going home to my place to smarten-up.  Isn’t it jolly? [In an outburst.] Oh, love, you might give-up for to-day, and take me down!

VALMA.

May I?

SOPHY.

May you!  Your hat—­get your hat! you’ll find me outside in a cab.

[He hurries away.

MISS LIMBIRD, carrying a leather bag, enters, followed by MISS
CLARIDGE and MISS HUDDLE.

SOPHY.

[As she, with the aid of her girls, pins on her hat and scrambles into her coat.] You know, girls, many a silly person’s head would be turned at being asked to a place like Fauncey Court—­as a guest, bear in mind.  But there, the houses I’ve been in!—­it’s nothing to me.  Still, specially invited by the Countess of Owbridge herself—! [Putting her feet in turn upon a chair and hitching up her stockings.] I shall just make rather a favour of manicuring Mrs. Jack.  One doesn’t go visiting to cut Mrs. Jack’s claws.  Gloves!  Thank goodness, the evenings are long! they say it’s simply heavenly at Fauncey Court—­simply heaven—­[She breaks off abruptly, staring straight before her.  Under her breath.] Oh—!  Fauncey Court—­Lord Quex—!

MISS CLARIDGE.

What’s the matter, Miss Fullgarney.