ing shortly._] Oh, no, your Grace--please--!

DUCHESS.

Nonsense, child; take it.

[SOPHY, _somewhat out of countenance, lays the robe over the back of the
chair._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Looking up_.] Well, you are a lucky girl, Sophy!

SOPHY.

Yes, I know it's very beautiful; [_returning to the_ DUCHESS] but I--I
think I'd rather not--

DUCHESS.

Tsch, tsch! help me. [_The_ DUCHESS _is standing before the
cheval-glass, which conceals her from the audience. With_ SOPHY'S _aid,
she slips out of her dress and puts herself into the tea-gown, while she
talks to_ MRS. EDEN.] Miss Eden is not well to-night, I am afraid. She
didn't come into the drawing-room.

[MRS. EDEN _rises and goes to the settee, upon which she partly kneels
while she chatters to the_ DUCHESS.

MRS. EDEN.

She complained of headache and bolted upstairs. Muriel is such an odd
girl at times.

DUCHESS.

A sweet one.

MRS. EDEN.

Perfectly adorable. Only I wish she wasn't so moody and uncertain.

DUCHESS.

But a headache--[_sympathetically_] dear child!

MRS. EDEN.

An engaged girl ought not to have a headache--no girl ought. It's just
one of those things that makes a man ponder.

DUCHESS.

Ponder?

MRS. EDEN.

Reflect. A man loves to think a girl is like an angel--beautiful pink
and white right through, with no clockwork. The moment she complains of
headache, or toothache, or a chilblain on the heel, the angel game is
off, and she's got to try and hold her own as a simple mortal. And as a
mortal she's not in it with a man. No, it's angel or nothing with us
women. I remember my Mater saying to me when I was engaged to Jack,
"Sybil, now mind! enjoy the very best of health till you have been
married at least ten years; and then be sure you have an excellent
motive for cracking-up." [_The clock tinkles out the half-hour. She
glances at the clock._] Half-past-eleven! the dead of night for this
house! [_Rising._] I'll be off to my cot.

[SOPHY _carries the_ DUCHESS'S _dress into the bedroom._

DUCHESS.

[_Coming to_ MRS. EDEN.] _Must_ you? Good-night.

MRS. EDEN.

So nice of you to allow me this gossip.

DUCHESS.

Delighted.

[_They kiss affectionately._

MRS. EDEN.

We go shopping together to-morrow, do we not?

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes.

MRS. EDEN.

[_With exaggerated regret._] To-morrow! your last day here! misery! [_At
the door, finding she still has "Madame Plon" in her hand._] Oh! do you
happen to be on this one?