QUEX.

[_Pointing towards the right._] It's in that direction.

SOPHY.

Grotto? Dark, I suppose, and lonelyish?

QUEX.

You said you desired shade and quiet.

SOPHY.

Yes, but not darkness. Fancy me in a grotto all by myself ... by
myself...!

QUEX.

[_Behind his paper again._] I'm afraid I have no further suggestion to
offer.

[_There is another pause; then her face lights up, and she comes down to
him swiftly._

SOPHY.

[_Close to him._] Show me your nails, my lord.

QUEX.

[_Lowering his paper._] My nails?

SOPHY.

[_Taking his hand and examining it._] Excuse me. Oh, my lord, for shame!

QUEX.

You take exception to them?

SOPHY.

This is hacking, not cutting. You ought never to be allowed within a
mile of a pair of scissors.

QUEX.

[_Looking at his other hand._] Oh, come! they're hardly as bad as all
that.

SOPHY

[_Examining that hand also._] Ha, ha, ha!

QUEX.

[_Rising, somewhat abashed._] Ha! I confess I am a little unskilful at
such operations.

SOPHY.

No gentleman should trust to himself where his nails are concerned. Why,
a man's hand has lost him a young lady's affections before this! I've
heard of heaps of cases where matches have been broken off--

QUEX.

[_Putting his hands behind him, smiling._] Really? the results of
manicure are more far-reaching than I had imagined.

SOPHY.

You, see, my lord, when a man's courting he is free to look his young
lady in the face for as long as he chooses; it's considered proper and
attentive. But the girl is expected to drop _her_ eyes, and then--what
has _she_ to look at? Why, a well-trimmed hand or an ugly one. [_Taking
off her rings._] Now then, I'll do wonders for you in ten minutes.

QUEX.

Thank you; I am not going indoors just yet.

SOPHY.

No need to go indoors. [_Depositing her rings upon the table and opening
her bag._] I've got my bag here, with all my tools--see!

QUEX.

Ah, but I won't trouble you this evening. Another occasion--

SOPHY.

[_Arranging her manicure instruments, &c., upon the table._] No trouble
at all, my lord--quite an honour. [_Indicating the stone bench._] Please
sit down there. [_Producing a little brass bowl._] Water--?

[_She runs to the fountain and fills her bowl from its basin._

QUEX.

[_Crossing, hesitatingly, to the right--looking at his nails and
speaking in a formal manner._] You have been bidden to Fauncey Court for
rest and relaxation, Miss Fullgarney; it