SOPHY.

Tell you—?

MURIEL.

About last night—­this woman—­

SOPHY.

Her Grace?

MURIEL.

Yes, yes.

SOPHY.

Oh, why, I haven’t anything to tell, darling.

MURIEL.

Haven’t anything to—?

SOPHY.

You see, I couldn’t help remembering what you’d called me—­mean, and despicable, and all the rest of it; and the feeling came over me that you were right, that I had been sneaky.  And so, after I’d attended to her Grace, I—­I went straight to bed.

MURIEL.

[Sitting.] Oh, yes.  Then you didn’t attempt to—­to watch?

SOPHY.

No.

MURIEL.

[Faintly.] Oh!

SOPHY.

Aren’t you glad?

MURIEL.

Glad!

SOPHY.

Why, you were certain that the word or two I’d overheard meant nothing wrong.

MURIEL.

I said so.

SOPHY.

Said so!

MURIEL.

[Turning to her with clenched hands.] Yes, but at the same time you put the dreadful idea into my head, Sophy, and I’ve not been able to dismiss it for one moment since.

SOPHY.

[Under her breath.] Oh!

[Sitting.

MURIEL.

[Lifting her veil.] There! you can see what I’ve been going through.

SOPHY.

[Looking at her.] I’m so sorry.

MURIEL.

[Looking at SOPHY.] You look rather washed out too.  Haven’t you slept, either?

SOPHY.

[Turning her head away.] Not over well. [Falteringly.] Then, after all, it would have been better if I had spied on her?

MURIEL.

Anything—­even that—­would have been preferable to this uncertainty.

SOPHY.

[To herself, her jaw falling.] Oh—!

MURIEL.

[Looking towards the window.] Has he arrived?

SOPHY.

Yes. [MURIEL rises, then SOPHY.

MURIEL.

[Producing, from her pocket, a jeweller’s case and showing it to SOPHY.] Do you like this?  I’ve just bought it, over the way, at Gressier’s.

SOPHY.

For Captain Bastling?

MURIEL.

[With a nod, opening the box.] A solitaire shirt-stud.

[She retains a neatly-folded piece of paper which is enclosed in the box and hands the box to SOPHY.

SOPHY.

Beautiful. [Glancing at the piece of paper in MURIEL’S hand.] What’s that?

MURIEL.

[Unfolding the paper carefully.] This goes with it.

[She holds the paper before SOPHY.

SOPHY.

[Reading.] “To Napier—­”

MURIEL.

[Withdrawing the paper.] Ah, no.