The Gay Lord Quex | Page 5

father was bailiff to old Mr.
Eden, at their place in Norfolk.
FRAYNE.
Rather alluring--eh, what?
QUEX.
[_Wincing._] Don't, Chick!
FRAYNE.
My dear Harry, it is perfectly proper, now that you are affianced to
Miss Eden, and have reformed all that sort of thing--it is perfectly
proper that you should no longer observe pretty women too narrowly.
QUEX.
Obviously.
FRAYNE.
But do bear in mind that your old friend is not so pledged. Recollect
that I have been stuck for the last eight years, with intervals of leave, on
the West Coast of Africa, nursing malaria--
QUEX
[_Severely._] Only malaria?
FRAYNE.
[_Mournfully._] There is nothing else to nurse, dear Harry, on the West
Coast of Africa. [Glancing at SOPHY.] Yes, by gad, that gal is
alluring!
QUEX.
[_Walking away._] Tssh! you're a bad companion, Chick!
[_He goes to the window and looks into the street._ FRAYNE _joins
him._ SOPHY, seizing her opportunity comes down to POLLITT.
SOPHY.
[To POLLITT.] Valma dear, you see that man?
POLLITT.

Which of the two?
SOPHY.
The dark one. That's Lord Quex--the wickedest man in London.
POLLITT.
He looks it. [_Jealously._] Have you ever cut his nails?
SOPHY.
No, love, no. Oh, I've heard such tales about him!
POLLITT.
What tales?
SOPHY.
I'll tell you, [_demurely_] when we're married. And the worst of it is,
he is engaged to Miss Eden.
POLLITT.
Who is she?
SOPHY.
Miss Muriel Eden, my foster-sister; the dearest friend I have in the
world--except you, sweetheart. It was Muriel and her brother Jack who
put me into this business. And now my darling is to be sacrificed to that
gay old thing--!
[_The door-gong sounds;_ QUEX _turns expectantly._
POLLITT.
If Miss Eden is your foster-sister--
SOPHY.
Yes, of course, she's six-and-twenty. But the poor girl has been worried
into it by her sister-in-law, Mrs. Jack, whose one idea is Title and
Position. Title and Position with that old rake by her side!
MISS LIMBIRD _enters, preceding_ CAPTAIN BASTLING--_a smart,
soldierly-looking man of about eight-and-twenty._ MISS LIMBIRD
_returns to her seat at the desk._
SOPHY.
[Seeing BASTLING.] My gracious!
POLLITT.
What's the matter?
QUEX.
[Recognising BASTLING _and greeting him._] Hallo, Napier! how are
you?
BASTLING.

[Shaking hands with QUEX.] Hallo, Quex!
QUEX.
What are you doing here?
SOPHY.
[To POLLITT.] Phew! I hope to goodness Lord Quex won't tumble to
anything.
POLLITT.
Tumble--to what?
[QUEX introduces BASTLING to FRAYNE.
SOPHY.
You don't understand; it's Captain Bastling--the man Muriel is really
fond of.
POLLITT.
What, while she's engaged--?
SOPHY.
[_With clenched hands._] Yes, and she shall marry him too, my darling
shall, if I can help to bring it about.
POLLITT.
You?
SOPHY.
Bless 'em, I don't know how they'd contrive without me!
POLLITT.
Contrive--?
SOPHY.
[_Fondly._] You old stupid! whenever Muriel is coming to be
manicured she sends Captain Bastling a warning overnight; [squeezing
POLLITT'S _arm, roguishly_] this kind of thing--"My heart is heavy
and my nails are long. To-morrow--three-thirty." Ha, ha, ha!
POLLITT.
Dearest, let me advise you--
SOPHY.
[_Her hand upon his lips._] Ah, don't lecture! [BASTLING saunters
forward to attract SOPHY'S _attention._] Oh--! [To POLLITT,
_hurriedly._] Go now. Pop in again by-and-by. [_Caressingly._]
Um-m-m! my love!
[POLLITT _goes out by the window._
SOPHY.

[Joining BASTLING--_formally._] Good day, Captain Bastling.
BASTLING.
Good afternoon, Miss Fullgarney.
SOPHY.
[_Dropping her voice._] She'll be here in a minute.
BASTLING.
[_In low tones_--_making a show of examining the articles on the
circular table._] Yes, I had a note from her this morning. [Glancing at
QUEX.] Confounded nuisance--!
SOPHY.
[_Pretending to display the articles._] It's all right; he's got to take Lady
Owbridge and Mrs. Jack Eden to look at Moses in the Bulrushes--a
picture--
BASTLING.
Sophy--I've bad news.
SOPHY.
No! what?
BASTLING.
My regiment is ordered to Hong-Kong.
SOPHY.
Great heavens! when are you off?
BASTLING.
In a fortnight.
SOPHY.
Oh, my poor darling!
BASTLING.
I must see her again to-morrow. I've something serious to propose to
her.
SOPHY.
[_Half in eagerness, half in fright._] Have you?
BASTLING.
But to-morrow it must be alone, Sophy; I can't say what I have to say in
a few hasty whispers, with all your girls flitting about--and perhaps a
customer or two here. Alone!
SOPHY.
Without me?
BASTLING.

Surely you can trust us. To-morrow at twelve. You'll manage it?
SOPHY.
How can I--alone?
BASTLING.
You're our only friend. Think!
SOPHY.
[_Glancing suddenly towards the left._] Valma's rooms!
[FRAYNE _has wandered to the back of the circular table, and, through
his eyeglass, is again observing_ SOPHY. QUEX _now joins him._
BASTLING.
[_Perceiving them--to_ SOPHY.] Look out!
SOPHY.
[_Taking a bottle from his hand--raising her voice._] You'll receive the
perfume in the course of the afternoon. [_Replacing the bottle upon the
table._] Shall I do your nails?
BASTLING.
Thanks.
[_They move away. He takes his place in the screen-chair; she sits
facing