MISS MOON.

That’s what she’s done. [Slightly disappointed.] Well, I should have been sorry if anything had happened to her.

QUEX.

Naturally.

MISS HUDDLE.

So should I, though I’m quite new here.

MISS MOON.

It never gives me any pleasure to hear of people having their limbs crushed.

MISS HUDDLE.

Or being murdered by tramps.

MISS MOON.

Won’t your lordship take a chair? [To FRAYNE, who has wandered down to the window.] And you, sir?

[The young gentleman, his manicuring being finished, has risen, paid MISS LIMBIRD and departed, followed by MISS CLARIDGE carrying her bowl and towel.  The door-gong sounds.

QUEX.

Is that she?

MISS MOON.

No; that young gentleman leaving.

[MISS MOON, carrying her bowl and towel, and MISS HUDDLE, after exchanging a few words with MISS LIMBIRD, withdraw.

FRAYNE.

[To QUEX, biliously.] How revoltingly hideous these gals look this morning!

QUEX.

Same as yesterday.  You’re seedy.

FRAYNE.

[Closing his eyes.] Oh, shockingly seedy. [Sitting.] I’m in for a go of malaria, I fear.

QUEX.

Shame of me to have routed you out of bed and bothered you with my affairs. [Sitting.] But you can quite understand, Chick, how confoundedly anxious I am as to the attitude Miss Fullgarney will adopt towards me to-day.

FRAYNE.

Quite, quite.  Harry—­

QUEX.

Yes?

FRAYNE.

What champagne was it we drank last night at Richmond?

QUEX.

[With some bitterness.] Ha!  Felix Poubelle, Carte d’Or.

FRAYNE.

[Shaking his head.] I can’t take champagne.

QUEX.

Can’t you!

FRAYNE.

I mean I oughtn’t to.

QUEX.

Oh. [Referring to his watch again.] I’ve given you a pretty minute account of last night’s tragedy, Chick.  “I’ll do what I can for you”—­those were the Fullgarney’s words.  Good lord, they came at me like a bolt from the blue!  Does she intend to act up to them, eh?—­that’s the question.  Surely she’ll act up to them, Chick?

FRAYNE.

Have you met the ladies this morning?

QUEX.

Yes—­except Muriel, who didn’t show at breakfast.

FRAYNE.

How did you find ’em?

QUEX.

Amiability itself; they know nothing. [Rising and looking down upon FRAYNE.] You see, Chick, all that Miss Fullgarney has to do—­if she hasn’t already done it—­is to tell a trifling taradiddle to Muriel concerning the events of last night.  Well, in effect, she has promised to do that, hasn’t she? [Impatiently.] Eh?