ed her on.

QUEX.

Yes.

SOPHY.

They've been in the habit of meeting here at my place.

QUEX.

[_Again pointing to the window._] In this fellow's rooms--Mr. Valma's--

SOPHY.

[_Rising._] No, no. They've never met there, till this morning. But
he--young Bastling--he's going away, abroad, in a fortnight or so, and
he wished to say good-bye to her quietly.

QUEX.

[_Turning towards the window fiercely._] Ah--!

SOPHY.

[_Laying her hand upon his arm._] Be careful, my lord!

QUEX.

[_Looking at her._] Careful?

SOPHY.

[_Significantly._] I know how she feels to-day. If you _want_ to send
her to Hong-Kong with Captain Bastling--

[QUEX _hesitates for a moment, then crosses to_ FRAYNE, _to whom he
speaks apart._

QUEX.

Chick! how shall I act?

FRAYNE.

[_Dismally._] Dear old chap, to be quite honest with you, I was not
wholly captivated by Miss Eden when you presented me yesterday.

QUEX.

Tshah! What shall I do? wait?

FRAYNE.

In any event, of course, the man's head has to be punched. But it might
be wise to delay doing it until--

QUEX.

[_To_ SOPHY.] You spoke, a little while ago, of giving me "a chance." I
see now what was in your mind. There's a risk, then, that this good-bye
may not be final?

SOPHY.

[_Stammeringly._] W--well, I--

QUEX.

[_Sharply._] Eh?

SOPHY.

[_Breaking down._] Oh, my lord, recollect, she's not much more than a
girl!

QUEX.

No, she is not much more than a girl; but you--though you and she are of
the same age--_you_ are a woman. _You_ know your world, upstairs and
downstairs, boudoir and kitchen. Yet you own you have encouraged her in
this, made her clandestine meetings with this penniless beggar possible.
You--! you deserve to be whipped, Miss Fullgarney--whipped!

SOPHY.

[_Facing him._] Come, my lord! not so fast! After all, remember, Captain
Bastling may be poor, but he's Miss Eden's match in other ways.

QUEX.

Match?

SOPHY.

Young, and good-looking. Oh, and isn't it natural--?

QUEX.

Quite natural--quite. [_Turning to_ FRAYNE.] Chick, what an ass I've
been; what fools we old chaps are, all of us! Why, if I had led the life
of a saint, it would only be necessary for a man like this Bastling to
come along, to knock me out. Good lord, how clear it is, when it's
brought home to you in this fashion! It isn't the scamp, the roue, a
girl shies at; it's the _old_ scamp, the _old_ roue. She'll take the
young one, the blackguar