the second reason for my coming here?

QUEX.

Second reason?

DUCHESS.

That our parting might be in keeping with our great attachment!

QUEX.

Impossible.

DUCHESS.

Impracticable?

QUEX.

In every way, impossible.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking his hand._] Oh, don't say that, dear Harry! Ah, the auguries
tell me that what I ask will be.

QUEX.

[_Omitting, in his anxiety, to withdraw his hand._] The auguries?

DUCHESS.

Fate--coincidence--call it what you please--foreshadows one more meeting
between us.

QUEX.

Coincidence?

DUCHESS.

[_Intensely, in a low voice._] Harry, do you remember a particular
evening at Stockholm?

QUEX.

[_Hazily._] Stockholm?

DUCHESS.

That evening upon which we discovered how much our society meant to each
other!

QUEX.

[_Vaguely, while he hastily recovers possession of his hand._] At
Stockholm was it--?

DUCHESS.

You were sailing with us in the Baltic--you must recollect? Our yacht
had put in at Stockholm; we had come to the Grand Hotel. Strood had
retired, and you and I were sitting out upon the balcony watching the
lights of the cafe on the Norrbro and the tiny steamboats that stole to
and fro across the harbour. Surely you recollect?

QUEX.

Yes, yes, of course.

DUCHESS.

Well, do you remember the brand of the champagne you sipped while you
and I sat smoking?

QUEX.

Good lord, no!

DUCHESS.

"Felix Poubelle, Carte d'Or." You remarked that it was a brand unknown
to you. Have you ever met it since, Harry?

QUEX.

Not that I--

DUCHESS.

Nor I till last night, at dinner. [_Impressively._] It is in this very
house.

QUEX.

[_With a slight shrug of the shoulders._] Extremely probable.

DUCHESS.

And do you remember how I was clad, that evening at Stockholm?

QUEX.

I am afraid I don't.

DUCHESS.

_Couleur de rose garnie de vert_. I have just such another garment with
me.

QUEX.

Really?

DUCHESS.

Do you remember in what month we were at Stockholm?

QUEX.

No.

DUCHESS.

June--this month. Nor the day of the week?

QUEX.

It must be ten years ago!

DUCHESS.

Wednesday. There stands the record in my diary.

QUEX.

Diary! good heavens, you are not so indiscreet--!

DUCHESS.

No, no--only the words, "warm evening." Yes, it was upon a Wednesday.
What is to-day?

QUEX.

Wednesday.

DUCHESS.

[_Rising._] Harry, I want to see you sipping that brand of champagne
once more, while you and I sit