we have no
European ladies.

[MURIEL--_eyeing the_ DUCHESS--_rises, shrinkingly, and steals away._

FRAYNE.

[_Looking after_ MURIEL.] Quex! ha, there's a lucky dog, now!

DUCHESS.

[_Sweetly._] You are delighted, naturally, at your old friend's
approaching marriage?

FRAYNE.

[_Kissing his finger-tips towards the left._] Miss Eden--!
[_Inquisitively._] And--and _you_, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[_Raising her eyebrows._] I?

FRAYNE.

You also approve his choice?

DUCHESS.

[_Blandly._] Approve? I am scarcely sufficiently intimate with either
party to express approval or disapproval.

FRAYNE.

[_Eyeing her askance._] Pardon. I thought you had known Quex
for--ah--some years.

DUCHESS.

Quite superficially. I should describe him rather as a great friend of
his Grace.

LADY OWBRIDGE _appears on the top of the steps._

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Are you here, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

[_Turning to her._] Yes.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

[_Coming down the steps._] Oh, I am really very upset!

DUCHESS.

Upset?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

About your maid. The circumstance has only just been reported to me--you
have lost your maid. [_Seeing_ FRAYNE.] Is that Sir Chichester? [FRAYNE
_advances and shakes hands._] I didn't observe you, in the dusk. Have
you seen Henry? I wonder if he is waiting for us in the drawing-room?

FRAYNE.

May I go and hunt for him?

LADY OWBRIDGE.

It would be kind of you.

[FRAYNE _goes up the steps and away._ MRS. EDEN _comes to the stone
bench._ MURIEL _returns slowly, coming from among the trees and
appearing on the further side of the low hedge._

DUCHESS.

[_To_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Pray don't be in the least concerned for me, dear
Lady Owbridge; the absence of my maid is quite a temporary matter. Poor
Watson's father is unwell and I packed her off to him this afternoon.
She will be back by mid-day to-morrow, she promises me.

LADY OWBRIDGE.

But, dear me! in the meantime my own woman shall wait upon you.

DUCHESS.

I couldn't dream of it.

MRS. EDEN.

Why not my Gilchrist--or let us share her?

DUCHESS.

No, no; the housemaid who assisted me into this gown--

LADY OWBRIDGE.

Chalmers? well, there's Chalmers, certainly. But I fear that Chalmers
has hot hands. Or Denham--no, Denham is suffering from a bad knee. Of
course, there's Bruce! Bruce is painfully near-sighted--but would
Bruce do? Or little Atkins--?

SOPHY.

[_Stepping from behind the bench, and confronting_ LADY OWBRI