MURIEL.

[Coldly, seating herself upon the bench.] Nothing—­anything.

SOPHY.

Nothing!

MURIEL.

A hundred topics of conversation would lead to such an expression. [Looking at SOPHY steadily.] You are mistaken in the construction you put upon it.

SOPHY.

[Quietly.] Mistaken, am I?

MURIEL.

[With clenched hands.] The Duchess of Strood is a most immaculate woman. [Suddenly.] Oh, it would be too infamous!

[The DUCHESS and FRAYNE, followed by MRS. EDEN, reappear behind the low hedge. SOPHY retreats to the back of the bench upon which MURIEL is sitting.  The DUCHESS and FRAYNE approach, talking, while MRS. EDEN chats to SOPHY across the hedge.

FRAYNE.

[To the DUCHESS, gallantly.] I am flattered by your remembrance of me, Duchess.  When we last met I had hardly a grey hair in my head. [Running his hand through his hair.] Ha!  The West Coast—!

DUCHESS.

Is the climate so terrible?

FRAYNE.

Deadly.  But the worst of it is, [with a bow and a sigh] we have no
European ladies.

[MURIEL—­eyeing the DUCHESS—­rises, shrinkingly, and steals away.

FRAYNE.

[Looking after MURIEL.] Quex! ha, there’s a lucky dog, now!

DUCHESS.

[Sweetly.] You are delighted, naturally, at your old friend’s approaching marriage?

FRAYNE.

[Kissing his finger-tips towards the left.] Miss Eden—! [Inquisitively.] And—­and you, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[Raising her eyebrows.] I?

FRAYNE.

You also approve his choice?

DUCHESS.

[Blandly.] Approve?  I am scarcely sufficiently intimate with either party to express approval or disapproval.

FRAYNE.

[Eyeing her askance.] Pardon.  I thought you had known Quex for—­ah—­some years.

DUCHESS.

Quite superficially.  I should describe him rather as a great friend of his Grace.

LADY OWBRIDGE appears on the top of the steps.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Are you here, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[Turning to her.] Yes.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[Coming down the steps.] Oh, I am really very upset!

DUCHESS.

Upset?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

About your maid.  The circumstance has only just been reported to me—­you have lost your maid. [Seeing FRAYNE.] Is that Sir Chichester? [FRAYNE advances and shakes hands.] I didn’t observe you, in the dusk.  Have you seen Henry?  I wonder if he is waiting for us in the drawing-room?

FRAYNE.

May I go and hunt for him?