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How are you to-day, Mrs. Eden?
MRS. EDEN.
Lady Owbridge, this is Miss Fullgarney, whom you've heard about.
[SOPHY _rises, makes a bob, and sits again._
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_Seated._] I hope you're quite well, my dear.
SOPHY.
[_Busy over_ MURIEL'S _nails._] Thanks, my lady; I hope you're the same.
MRS. EDEN.
[_Sitting._] What is your opinion of the picture, Lady Owbridge?
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_Not hearing._] Eh?
QUEX.
Moses in the Bulrushes--what d'ye think of it?
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_Tearfully._] They treat such subjects nowadays with too little reverence.
FRAYNE.
[_Thoughtlessly._] Too much Pharaoh's daughter and too little Moses.
QUEX.
[_Frowning him down._] Phsst!
MRS. EDEN.
Certainly the handmaidens remind one of the young ladies in the ballet at the Empire.
LADY OWBRIDGE.
The Empire?
MRS. EDEN.
[_Checking herself._] Oh--!
QUEX.
Popular place of entertainment.
LADY OWBRIDGE.
Ah? The only place of that kind I have visited for some years is the Imperial Inst.i.tute.
[MRS. EDEN _rises, laughing to herself, and joins_ SOPHY _and_ MURIEL.
FRAYNE _is now establishing cordial relations between himself and_ MISS MOON.
MRS. EDEN.
[_To_ SOPHY.] Well, Sophy, and how's your business getting along?
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_To_ QUEX, _after ascertaining that_ FRAYNE _is not near her._] Oh, Henry, I have asked Sir Chichester to drive down to us to-night, to dine.
QUEX.
[_Watching_ FRAYNE _with apprehension._] Ah, yes, delightful. [_Trying to gain_ FRAYNE'S _attention--warningly._] Phsst! phsst!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
[_Plucking at_ QUEX'S _coat._] I feel that Sir Chichester is a very wholesome friend for you, Henry.
QUEX.
Very. Phsst!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
What is the name of the West African place?--Uumbos--Uumbos seems to have improved him vastly.
QUEX.
[_In a low voice._] Chichester!
LADY OWBRIDGE.
And it is our wish that you should a.s.sociate for the future only with grey-haired men.
[MISS MOON _now withdraws, with_ FRAYNE _at her heels._
MURIEL.
[_Rising and coming to_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] I'm ready, dear Lady Owbridge.
