comic opera. Then she returns the comb and mirror to the bag
and--bag in hand--prepares to depart. While this is going on_ QUEX
_returns, above the low hedge. He ascends the steps and looks off into
the distance, watching the retreating figure of the_ DUCHESS. _After a
moment or two he shrugs his shoulders in a perplexed, troubled way,
and, coming down the steps, encounters_ SOPHY.

SOPHY.

[_Innocently._] Lovely evening, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Passing her, with a nod and a smile._] Very--very.

[_At the table, he exchanges the newspaper he carries for another. She
is going in the direction indicated by_ MURIEL. _Suddenly she pauses,
above the dwarf cypress-hedge, and stands looking at_ QUEX _with an
expression in which fear and determination are mingled. Having selected
his newspaper,_ QUEX _crosses to the left and sits, reading._

SOPHY.

[_Coming to him._] I don't think I shall go, after all.

QUEX.

[_Lowering his paper._] Eh?

SOPHY.

I was just starting off down to the gates, you know, to meet Mr. Valma.

QUEX.

[_With amiable indifference._] Oh?

SOPHY.

[_Her head upon one side, smiling._] But it's too hot for walking, isn't
it?

QUEX.

[_Resuming his reading._] It is warm.

SOPHY.

[_Putting her bag upon the table and removing her gloves._] Phew!

[_She eyes him askance, undecided, as to a plan of action. He lowers his
paper again, disconcerting her._

QUEX.

You don't feel you _ought_ to go and meet your--Mr. Valma?

SOPHY.

[_Edging towards him._] I might miss him--mightn't I?

QUEX.

Certainly--you might.

SOPHY.

Besides, it wouldn't do for me to attend upon Mrs. Jack--Mrs. Eden--all
puffing and towzelled; [_archly_] now, would it?

QUEX.

[_Resuming his reading._] You're the best judge.

SOPHY.

So I've a quarter of an hour to fill in somehow. [_A pause._] I've a
quarter of an hour to fill in somehow.

QUEX.

[_Behind his paper, beginning to be extremely bored._] Indeed?

SOPHY.

[_Quaking._] I--I wish there were some quiet little shady places to
ramble about in, here at Fauncey Court.

QUEX.

There are several.

SOPHY.

Are there?... are there?

QUEX.

[_Turning his paper._] Oh, yes, a great many.

SOPHY.

You see, I'm a stranger--

QUEX.

[_Kindly._] Well, you run along; you'll find 'em. [_She walks away
slowly, baffled. He glances at her over his paper, slightly puzzled._]
Have you seen the grotto?

SOPHY.

[_Turning sharply._] No.