one--for Muriel. [_Brightly._] And I'm living
sedately at Richmond, under aunt Julia's wing. Muriel is staying at
Fauncey Court too, just now; she's up from Norfolk for the Season,
chaperoned by Mrs. Jack. [_Sitting, nursing his knee, with a sigh of
content_.] Ah! after all, it's very pleasant to be a good boy.

FRAYNE.

When is it to take place?

QUEX.

At the end of the year; assuming, of course--

FRAYNE.

That you continue to behave prettily? [QUEX _assents, with a wave of the
hand._] The slightest lapse on your part--?

QUEX.

Impossible.

FRAYNE.

But it would--?

QUEX.

[_A little impatiently._] Naturally.

FRAYNE.

Well, six months pass quickly--everywhere but on the West Coast of
Africa.

QUEX.

And then--you shall be my best man, Chick, if you're still home.

FRAYNE.

[_Rising._] Hah! I never thought--

QUEX.

[_Rising._] No; I who always laughed at marriage as a dull depravity
permitted to the respectable classes! I who always maintained that man's
whole duty to woman--meaning his mistresses--that a man's duty to a
woman is liberally discharged when he has made a settlement on her, or
stuck her into his will! [_Blowing the ideas from him._] Phugh!

[_He goes to the little table, and examines the objects upon it._

FRAYNE.

[_Following him._] Talking of--ah--mistresses I suppose you've--?

QUEX.

Oh, yes, they're all--

FRAYNE.

Made happy and comfortable?

QUEX.

I've done my utmost.

FRAYNE.

Mrs.--?

QUEX.

[_Rather irritably._] I say, all of them.

FRAYNE.

No trouble with Lady--?

QUEX.

No, no, no, no.

FRAYNE.

What about the little Duchess? [QUEX _pauses in his examination of a
nail-clipper._] Eh?

QUEX.

[_Turning to him, slightly embarrassed._] Odd that you should mention
her.

FRAYNE.

Why?

QUEX.

She's staying at Fauncey Court also.

FRAYNE.

The Duchess!

QUEX.

She proposed herself for a visit. I dared not raise any objection, for
her reputation's sake; the ladies would have suspected at once. You're
one of the few, Chick, who ever got an inkling of that business.

FRAYNE.

Very awkward!

QUEX.

No. She's behaving admirably. [_Thoughtfully--with a wry face._] Of
course she was always a little romantic and sentimental.

FRAYNE.

By gad though, what an alluring woman!

QUEX.

[_Shortly._] Perhaps.

FRAYNE.

Ho, come! you don't mean to tell me--?

QUEX.

[_With dignity._] Yes, I do--upon my honour, I