The Gay Lord Quex Part 11

No. She's behaving admirably. [_Thoughtfully--with a wry face._] Of course she was always a little romantic and sentimental.

FRAYNE.

By gad though, what an alluring woman!

QUEX.

[_Shortly._] Perhaps.

FRAYNE.

Ho, come! you don't mean to tell me--?

QUEX.

[_With dignity._] Yes, I do--upon my honour, I've forgotten. [_The door-gong sounds._] This must be the ladies.

MURIEL EDEN _enters, followed by_ MISS CLARIDGE. MURIEL _is a tall, fresh-looking, girlish young woman, prettily dressed._ SOPHY _rises and meets her._

MURIEL.

[_Behind the circular table--to_ SOPHY, _breathlessly, as if from the exertion of running upstairs._] Well, Sophy! [_Looking round._] Is Lord Quex--? [SOPHY _glances towards_ QUEX, _who advances._] Oh, yes. [_To_ QUEX.] Lady Owbridge and Mrs. Jack won't f.a.g upstairs just now. They're waiting for you in the carriage, they asked me to say.

QUEX.

[_In tender solicitation._] Moses in the Bulrushes? You still elect to have your nails cut?

MURIEL.

Thanks, I--[_with an effort_] I've already seen the picture.

QUEX.

And its merits are not sufficient--?

MURIEL.

[_Guiltily._] I thought the bulrushes rather well done.

QUEX.

May I present my old friend, Sir Chichester Frayne?

MURIEL.

[_To_ FRAYNE.] How do you do?

QUEX.

[_To_ FRAYNE.] Will you come, Chick? [_To_ MURIEL.] We shall be back very soon.

[MURIEL _nods to_ QUEX _and_ FRAYNE _and turns away to the window, removing her gloves._ SOPHY _joins her._

FRAYNE.

[_To_ QUEX.] As I suspected--the typical, creamy English girl. We all do it! we all come to that, sooner or later.

QUEX.

[_Looking from_, MURIEL _to_ FRAYNE _proudly._] Well--

FRAYNE.

[_In answer, kissing his finger-tips to the air._] Alluring!

QUEX.

Ha! [_Hastily._] We're keeping the ladies waiting.

[_He goes out._ FRAYNE _is following_ QUEX, _when he encounters_ MISS CLARIDGE. _He pauses, gazing at her admiringly. The door-gong sounds._

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_Surprised._] Do you wish anything, sir?

FRAYNE.

[_With a little sigh of longing._] Ah--h!

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_Coldly._] Shall I cut your nails?

FRAYNE.

[_Wofully._] That's it, dear young lady--you can't!

MISS CLARIDGE.

[_With hauteur._] Reely! Why not, sir?

FRAYNE.

I regret to say I bite 'em.

[_He goes out_. MISS CLARIDGE _t.i.tters loudly to_ MISS LIMBIRD.

SOPHY.