[He walks away.

DUCHESS.

[Moving slowly.] That is—­almost over.

QUEX.

[Turning sharply.] Almost?

DUCHESS.

We have yet to say good-bye, you know.

QUEX.

[Returning to her, apprehensively.] We—­we have said good-bye.

DUCHESS.

Ah, no, no!

QUEX.

[Again bowing over her hand—­with simulated feeling.] Good-bye.

DUCHESS.

[Looking round.] What! here?

QUEX.

[Humouring her.] This romantic old garden! [pointing to the statuary] these silent witnesses—­beholders, it is likely, of many similar scenes! the—­the—­setting sun!  Could any situation be more appropriate?

DUCHESS.

But we are liable to be interrupted at any moment.  The joint romance of our lives, Harry, ought not to end with a curt word and formal hand-shake in an exposed spot of this kind. [Sitting in the garden chair.] Oh, it cannot, must not, end so!

QUEX.

[Eyeing her uneasily.] Frankly, I see nothing else for it.

DUCHESS.

I can’t credit it.  Why, what was the second reason for my coming here?

QUEX.

Second reason?

DUCHESS.

That our parting might be in keeping with our great attachment!

QUEX.

Impossible.

DUCHESS.

Impracticable?

QUEX.

In every way, impossible.

DUCHESS.

[Taking his hand.] Oh, don’t say that, dear Harry!  Ah, the auguries tell me that what I ask will be.

QUEX.

[Omitting, in his anxiety, to withdraw his hand.] The auguries?

DUCHESS.

Fate—­coincidence—­call it what you please—­foreshadows one more meeting between us.

QUEX.

Coincidence?

DUCHESS.

[Intensely, in a low voice.] Harry, do you remember a particular evening at Stockholm?

QUEX.

[Hazily.] Stockholm?

DUCHESS.

That evening upon which we discovered how much our society meant to each other!

QUEX.

[Vaguely, while he hastily recovers possession of his hand.] At Stockholm was it—?

DUCHESS.

You were sailing with us in the Baltic—­you must recollect?  Our yacht had put in at Stockholm; we had come to the Grand Hotel.  Strood had retired, and you and I were sitting out upon the balcony watching the lights of the cafe on the Norrbro and the tiny steamboats that stole to and fro across the harbour.  Surely you recollect?

QUEX.

Yes, yes, of course.

DUCHESS.

Well, do you remember the brand of the champagne you sipped while you and I sat smoking?

QUEX.

Good lord, no!