The Gay Lord Quex | Page 6

And I almost went down on my knees to her, Chick.
FRAYNE.
Not really?
QUEX.
I did--old man as I am! no, I'm not old.
FRAYNE.
Forty-eight. Ha, ha! I'm only forty-five.
QUEX.
But you've had malaria--
FRAYNE.
Dry up, Harry!
QUEX.
So we're quits. Well, down on my marrow-bones I went, metaphorically, and there and then I made my vows to old aunt Julia, and craved her help; and she dropped tears on me, Chick, like a mother. And the result was that within a month I became engaged to Miss Eden.
FRAYNE.
The young lady soon waived her--
QUEX.
[_Getting off the table._] I beg your pardon--the young lady did nothing of the kind. But with aunt Julia's aid I showed 'em all that it was a genuine case of done with the old life--a real, genuine instance. [_Balancing upon the back of the chair._] I've sold my house in Norfolk Street.
FRAYNE.
You'll want one.
QUEX.
[_Gravely._] Not that one--for Muriel. [_Brightly._] And I'm living sedately at Richmond, under aunt Julia's wing. Muriel is staying at Fauncey Court too, just now; she's up from Norfolk for the Season, chaperoned by Mrs. Jack. [_Sitting, nursing his knee, with a sigh of content_.] Ah! after all, it's very pleasant to be a good boy.
FRAYNE.
When is it to take place?
QUEX.
At the end of the year; assuming, of course--
FRAYNE.
That you continue to behave prettily? [QUEX _assents, with a wave of the hand._] The slightest lapse on your part--?
QUEX.
Impossible.
FRAYNE.
But it would--?
QUEX.
[_A little impatiently._] Naturally.
FRAYNE.
Well, six months pass quickly--everywhere but on the West Coast of Africa.
QUEX.
And then--you shall be my best man, Chick, if you're still home.
FRAYNE.
[_Rising._] Hah! I never thought--
QUEX.
[_Rising._] No; I who always laughed at marriage as a dull depravity permitted to the respectable classes! I who always maintained that man's whole duty to woman--meaning his mistresses--that a man's duty to a woman is liberally discharged when he has made a settlement on her, or stuck her into his will! [_Blowing the ideas from him._] Phugh!
[_He goes to the little table, and examines the objects upon it._
FRAYNE.
[_Following him._] Talking of--ah--mistresses I suppose you've--?
QUEX.
Oh, yes, they're all--
FRAYNE.
Made happy and comfortable?
QUEX.
I've done my utmost.
FRAYNE.
Mrs.--?
QUEX.
[_Rather irritably._] I say, all of them.
FRAYNE.
No trouble with Lady--?
QUEX.
No, no, no, no.
FRAYNE.
What about the little Duchess? [QUEX _pauses in his examination of a nail-clipper._] Eh?
QUEX.
[_Turning to him, slightly embarrassed._] Odd that you should mention her.
FRAYNE.
Why?
QUEX.
She's staying at Fauncey Court also.
FRAYNE.
The Duchess!
QUEX.
She proposed herself for a visit. I dared not raise any objection, for her reputation's sake; the ladies would have suspected at once. You're one of the few, Chick, who ever got an inkling of that business.
FRAYNE.
Very awkward!
QUEX.
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 fag 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 titters loudly to MISS LIMBIRD.
SOPHY.
[To MISS CLARIDGE, _reprovingly._] Miss Claridge! I don't require you at present.
[MISS CLARIDGE _withdraws._
SOPHY.
[Going to MISS LIMBIRD.] Miss Limbird, will you oblige me? hot water, please.
[MISS LIMBIRD _goes out. At once_ SOPHY gives a signal to BASTLING and MURIEL, _and keeps guard._ BASTLING and MURIEL _talk in low, hurried tones._
BASTLING.
[_On the right of the circular table._] How are you?
MURIEL.
[_On the other side, giving him her hand across the table._] I don't know. [_Withdrawing her hand._] I hate myself!
BASTLING.
Hate yourself?
MURIEL.
For this