flame--a flame
that grew in the heart of a woman, that of a sudden spread through her
whole organism, that lit up her eyes with a light more refulgent than
the light of sun or moon! [_Laying her hand upon his arm._] Oh, oh, this
poor, thin, modern sentiment miscalled Love--!

QUEX.

[_Edging away._] Sssh! pray be careful!

DUCHESS.

Ah, yes. But, dear Harry, I cannot endure the ordeal any longer.

QUEX.

The ordeal?

DUCHESS.

The prolonged discomfort, to which I have subjected myself, of watching
your wooing of Miss Eden. I must go.

QUEX.

[_With ill-concealed relief._] Go! leave us?

DUCHESS.

I recognise how fitting it is that you should bring your wild, irregular
career to a close; but after to-morrow I shall cease to be a spectator
of these preliminaries.

QUEX.

[_His eyes sparkling._] After to-morrow!

DUCHESS.

Yes, I rejoin poor dear Strood on Friday. True, he has four nurses--he
always had four nurses, if you remember?

QUEX.

[_Sympathetically._] Three or four.

DUCHESS.

But then, nurses are but nurses. [_Nobly._] I must not forget that I am
a wife, Harry.

QUEX.

No, no--you mustn't forget that.

DUCHESS.

[_Gazing into his eyes._] And so, between you and me, [_placing her
hands upon his shoulders_] it is over.

QUEX.

[_Promptly._] Over.

DUCHESS.

Finally, irrevocably over.

QUEX.

[_Freeing himself._] Absolutely over. [_Taking her hand and bowing over
it solemnly._] Done with.

[_He walks away._

DUCHESS.

[_Moving slowly._] That is--almost over.

QUEX.

[_Turning sharply._] Almost?

DUCHESS.

We have yet to say good-bye, you know.

QUEX.

[_Returning to her, apprehensively._] We--we have said good-bye.

DUCHESS.

Ah, no, no!

QUEX.

[_Again bowing over her hand--with simulated feeling._] Good-bye.

DUCHESS.

[_Looking round._] What! _here_?

QUEX.

[_Humouring her._] This romantic old garden! [_pointing to the
statuary_] these silent witnesses--beholders, it is likely, of many
similar scenes! the--the--setting sun! Could any situation be more
appropriate?

DUCHESS.

But we are liable to be interrupted at any moment. The joint romance of
our lives, Harry, ought not to end with a curt word and formal
hand-shake in an exposed spot of this kind. [_Sitting in the garden
chair._] Oh, it cannot, must not, end so!

QUEX.

[_Eyeing her uneasily._] Frankly, I see nothing else for it.

DUCHESS.

I can't credit it. Why, what was