[Turning towards the window fiercely.] Ah—!

SOPHY.

[Laying her hand upon his arm.] Be careful, my lord!

QUEX.

[Looking at her.] Careful?

SOPHY.

[Significantly.] I know how she feels to-day.  If you want to send her to Hong-Kong with Captain Bastling—­

[QUEX hesitates for a moment, then crosses to FRAYNE, to whom he speaks apart.

QUEX.

Chick! how shall I act?

FRAYNE.

[Dismally.] Dear old chap, to be quite honest with you, I was not wholly captivated by Miss Eden when you presented me yesterday.

QUEX.

Tshah!  What shall I do? wait?

FRAYNE.

In any event, of course, the man’s head has to be punched.  But it might be wise to delay doing it until—­

QUEX.

[To SOPHY.] You spoke, a little while ago, of giving me “a chance.”  I see now what was in your mind.  There’s a risk, then, that this good-bye may not be final?

SOPHY.

[Stammeringly.] W—­well, I—­

QUEX.

[Sharply.] Eh?

SOPHY.

[Breaking down.] Oh, my lord, recollect, she’s not much more than a girl!

QUEX.

No, she is not much more than a girl; but you—­though you and she are of the same age—­you are a woman. You know your world, upstairs and downstairs, boudoir and kitchen.  Yet you own you have encouraged her in this, made her clandestine meetings with this penniless beggar possible.  You—! you deserve to be whipped, Miss Fullgarney—­whipped!

SOPHY.

[Facing him.] Come, my lord! not so fast!  After all, remember, Captain Bastling may be poor, but he’s Miss Eden’s match in other ways.

QUEX.

Match?

SOPHY.

Young, and good-looking.  Oh, and isn’t it natural—?

QUEX.

Quite natural—­quite. [Turning to FRAYNE.] Chick, what an ass I’ve been; what fools we old chaps are, all of us!  Why, if I had led the life of a saint, it would only be necessary for a man like this Bastling to come along, to knock me out.  Good lord, how clear it is, when it’s brought home to you in this fashion!  It isn’t the scamp, the roue, a girl shies at; it’s the old scamp, the old roue.  She’ll take the young one, the blackguard with a smooth skin and a bright eye, directly he raises a hand—­take him without a murmur, money-hunter though he may be.  Take him! by Jove, she leaps into his arms!

FRAYNE.

D’ye mean that Bastling—?

QUEX.

Napier Bastling! [Breaking into a prolonged peal of laughter.] Ha, ha, ha, ha!  Chick, he’s just what I was at eight-and-twenty.  Ha, ha, ha! what I was—­and worse, damn him!—­and she loves him.

SOPHY.

[Who has been listening with wide-open eyes and parted lips.] It’s not true! it isn’t true!