MURIEL.

[_Looking up at_ SOPHY, _horrified._] What!

SOPHY.

In one of those greeny nooks you've told me of, at Fauncey Court.
[_Between her teeth._] If he ever tried to kiss _me_, and I told you of
it, you'd take my word for it, wouldn't you?

MURIEL.

[_Starting to her feet._] For shame! how dare you let such an idea enter
your head? you, a respectable girl, just engaged yourself--!

SOPHY.

[_With a quick look towards the window._] Oh, yes! hush! [_Clapping her
hand to her mouth._] Oh, what would Valma say if he knew I'd talked in
this style!

[_The door-gong sounds._

MURIEL

Here they are.

SOPHY.

[_As they hastily return to their chairs._] Darling, I was only thinking
of you and the poor Captain. [_With another glance towards the window._]
Phew! if my Valma knew!

[_They resume their seats, and the manicuring is continued._

MISS LIMBIRD _enters, preceding_ LORD QUEX _and the_ COUNTESS OF
OWBRIDGE, MRS. JACK EDEN _and_ FRAYNE. MISS MOON _follows._ LADY
OWBRIDGE _is a very old lady in a mouse-coloured wig, with a pale,
anxious face, watery eyes, and no eyebrows._ MRS. EDEN _is an
ultra-fashionably-dressed woman of about thirty, shrill and_ maniere.

QUEX.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE, _who is upon his arm._] Yes, a curious phase of
modern life. Many people come to these places for rest.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Looking about her shrinkingly._] For rest, Henry?

QUEX.

Certainly. I know a woman--I _knew_ a woman who used to declare that her
sole repose during the Season was the half-hour with the manicurist.

MRS. EDEN.

How are you, Sophy?

SOPHY.

How are you to-day, Mrs. Eden?

MRS. EDEN.

Lady Owbridge, this is Miss Fullgarney, whom you've heard about.

[SOPHY _rises, makes a bob, and sits again._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Seated._] I hope you're quite well, my dear.

SOPHY.

[_Busy over_ MURIEL'S _nails._] Thanks, my lady; I hope you're the same.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Sitting._] What is your opinion of the picture, Lady Owbridge?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Not hearing._] Eh?

QUEX.

Moses in the Bulrushes--what d'ye think of it?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Tearfully._] They treat such subjects nowadays with too little
reverence.

FRAYNE.

[_Thoughtlessly._] Too much Pharaoh's daughter and too little Moses.

QUEX.

[_Frowning him down._] Phsst!

MRS. EDEN.

Certainly the handmaidens remind one of the young ladies in the ballet
at the Empire.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

The Empire?

MRS. EDE