itably._] May I--?

[_She inclines her head. He pours wine into the glasses; she takes the
champagne glass, he the tumbler._

DUCHESS.

[_Sentimentally._] Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! [_Looking at him over the
brim of her glass._] _Eh bien! au joyeux passe!_

QUEX.

_Non, non--a un avenir meilleur!_

DUCHESS.

_Que vous etes prosaique! soit!_ [_They drink. She sits, with a sigh of
dissatisfaction._] Ah!

QUEX.

[_Leaning against the table, drinking his wine._] Wonderful wine--really
exceptional. [_Struck by a thought, turning to her._] Forgive me--you
must have found some difficulty in introducing Monsieur Felix Poubelle
into this hallowed apartment.

DUCHESS.

No. [_Sipping her wine._] My maid thinks it is by my doctor's orders.

QUEX.

Your maid, yes--[_sipping his wine; then sitting upon the settee, glass
in hand_] but my poor aunt must be highly scandalised.

DUCHESS.

[_Her glass at her lips._] Dear Lady Owbridge will not know. I told the
girl to coax it out of the butler, as if it were for herself. These
women have a way of doing such things.

QUEX.

[_Laughing rather sadly._] Ha, ha, ha! who is beyond temptation? Not
even old Bristow--sixty if he's a day.

DUCHESS.

[_Shrugging her shoulders._] Sixty or sixteen--when a girl is
fascinating--

QUEX.

Fascinating! your woman, Watson!

DUCHESS.

No, no--Watson has left me for a few hours. I am speaking of Sophy.

[_There is a brief silence._ QUEX, _surprised in the act of drinking,
lowers his glass slowly._

QUEX.

[_In a queer voice._] Sophy?

DUCHESS.

Miss Fullgarney, the manicurist. She was so good as to offer to take
Watson's place for to-night.

QUEX.

[_Looking steadily before him._] Oh?

[_There is another pause. The_ DUCHESS _puts down her glass and, with
her foot, pushes the footstool towards_ QUEX.

DUCHESS.

[_Sliding from her chair on to the footstool._] Oh, Harry, the
bitterness of this final meeting! the dull agony of it!

[_He gets rid of his tumbler and touches her arm._

QUEX.

[_Quietly._] Duchess--

DUCHESS.

[_Surprised._] Eh?

QUEX.

I am sorry to alarm you, but this girl--Miss Eden's foster-sister--

DUCHESS.

What about her?

QUEX.

She's a cat.

DUCHESS.

Cat!

QUEX.

[_Gathering his ideas as he proceeds._] A common hussy, not above
playing tricks--spying--

DUCHESS.

Spying!

QUEX.

I caught her behind the hedge this evening, in the Italian garden, after
you a