What ails you, Henry?

QUEX.

Muriel! she—­she—­she’s going to marry me!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

I hope so.

QUEX.

But at the end of the Season! a month hence! a month, a month, a month!

LADY OWBRIDGE.

My dear boy!  Heaven prosper your union!  Muriel—­

MRS. EDEN.

[To LADY OWBRIDGE.] Isn’t this glorious news, Lady Owbridge?  But I always thought it unwise to protract the engagement.  You never know what may happen, do you?  I must tell the dear Duchess—­

[She joins the DUCHESS and FRAYNE, and chatters to them.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[To MURIEL, in a low voice.] Muriel, you are right.  In this life, if you have anything to pardon, pardon quickly.  Slow forgiveness is little better than no forgiveness.

MRS. EDEN.

[Coming to QUEX.] Congratulate you.

QUEX.

Thanks.

[LADY OWBRIDGE moves away, joining the DUCHESS, as MRS. EDEN returns to MURIEL.

MRS. EDEN.

[Kissing MURIEL.] You sensible girl!

[FRAYNE comes to QUEX.

FRAYNE.

[To QUEX, mournfully.] Old chap, this is shockingly sudden.

QUEX.

Ha, ha!

FRAYNE.

However, we must contrive, you and I, to pass one more evening together before the event.

QUEX.

One! many!

FRAYNE.

No, no, I mean a buster, Harry; a regular night of it—­

QUEX.

Good lord! go away!

[MRS. EDEN joins LADY OWBRIDGE as FRAYNE advances to MURIEL.

FRAYNE.

[Taking MURIEL’S hand.] Dear young lady, you are about to become the wife of one of the best.  There are not many of us left; we are a dwindling band, Miss Eden—­

[The DUCHESS comes to QUEX.

DUCHESS.

[To QUEX, softly.] Sincere congratulations. [He bows stiffly.] At any time, you know, when you return to England—­

QUEX.

[Eyeing her sternly.] Yes?

DUCHESS.

After your honeymoon—­

QUEX.

Yes?

DUCHESS.

Should you feel ennuye—­

QUEX.

I!

DUCHESS.

The air at Burwarton never failed to exhilarate you.  So pray do not forget—­

QUEX.

[Indignantly.] Duchess!

DUCHESS.

[Sweetly.] That poor dear Strood would be pleased to see you. [FRAYNE joins LADY OWBRIDGE and MRS. EDEN as the DUCHESS advances to MURIEL.] Dear Miss Eden, may your married life be as beautiful, as serene, as my own!

MURIEL.

[Frankly.] Thank you, Duchess.