, my lord; if you like, you've just time to run in
next door and have your palm read.

QUEX.

My palm--?

SOPHY.

By this extraordinary palmist everybody is talking about--Valma.

QUEX.

[_Pleasantly._] One of these fortune-telling fellows, eh? [_Shaking his
head._] I prefer the gipsy on Epsom race-course.

SOPHY.

[_Under her breath._] Oh, indeed! [_Curtly._] Please take a seat.

[_She flounces up to the desk and busies herself there vindictively._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX.] Who's that gal? what's her name?

QUEX.

Fullgarney; a protegee of the Edens. Her father was bailiff to old Mr.
Eden, at their place in Norfolk.

FRAYNE.

Rather alluring--eh, what?

QUEX.

[_Wincing._] Don't, Chick!

FRAYNE.

My dear Harry, it is perfectly proper, now that you are affianced to
Miss Eden, and have reformed all that sort of thing--it is perfectly
proper that you should no longer observe pretty women too narrowly.

QUEX.

Obviously.

FRAYNE.

But do bear in mind that your old friend is not so pledged. Recollect
that _I_ have been stuck for the last eight years, with intervals of
leave, on the West Coast of Africa, nursing malaria--

QUEX

[_Severely._] Only malaria?

FRAYNE.

[_Mournfully._] There is nothing else to nurse, dear Harry, on the West
Coast of Africa. [_Glancing at_ SOPHY.] Yes, by gad, that gal is
alluring!

QUEX.

[_Walking away._] Tssh! you're a bad companion, Chick!

[_He goes to the window and looks into the street._ FRAYNE _joins him._
SOPHY, _seizing her opportunity comes down to_ POLLITT.

SOPHY.

[_To_ POLLITT.] Valma dear, you see that man?

POLLITT.

Which of the two?

SOPHY.

The dark one. That's Lord Quex--the wickedest man in London.

POLLITT.

He looks it. [_Jealously._] Have you ever cut his nails?

SOPHY.

No, love, no. Oh, I've heard such tales about him!

POLLITT.

What tales?

SOPHY.

I'll tell you, [_demurely_] when we're married. And the worst of it is,
he is engaged to Miss Eden.

POLLITT.

Who is she?

SOPHY.

Miss Muriel Eden, my foster-sister; the dearest friend I have in the
world--except you, sweetheart. It was Muriel and her brother Jack who
put me into this business. And now my darling is to be sacrificed to
that gay old thing--!

[_The door-gong sounds;_ QUEX _turns expectantly._

POLLITT.

If Miss Eden is your foster-sister--

SOPHY.

Yes, of course, she's six-and-twenty. But the poor girl has been worried
into