his watch._] Twenty minutes to twelve.

MISS MOON.

Yes, we've never known Miss Fullgarney to be so late at her business. I
do hope she hasn't been run over and injured.

MISS HUDDLE.

Or murdered by tramps.

QUEX.

My dear young lady!

MISS MOON.

Well, one does read _such_ things in the ha'penny papers.

MISS HUDDLE.

And she went down to Richmond yesterday afternoon, you know--to Fauncey
Court.

QUEX.

Of course I know--and slept there.

MISS MOON.

Oh, did she?

QUEX.

And has come up to town this morning.

MISS HUDDLE.

Then she'll have gone home, I expect, to change.

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 m