[_With clenched hands._] The Duchess of Strood is a most immaculate
woman. [_Suddenly._] Oh, it would be too infamous!

[_The_ DUCHESS _and_ FRAYNE, _followed by_ MRS. EDEN, _reappear behind
the low hedge._ SOPHY _retreats to the back of the bench upon which_
MURIEL _is sitting. The_ DUCHESS _and_ FRAYNE _approach, talking,
while_ MRS. EDEN _chats to_ SOPHY _across the hedge._

FRAYNE.

[_To the_ DUCHESS, _gallantly._] I am flattered by your remembrance of
me, Duchess. When we last met I had hardly a grey hair in my head.
[_Running his hand through his hair._] Ha! The West Coast--!

DUCHESS.

Is the climate so terrible?

FRAYNE.

Deadly. But the worst of it is, [_with a bow and a sigh_] we have no
European ladies.

[MURIEL--_eyeing the_ DUCHESS--_rises, shrinkingly, and steals away._

FRAYNE.

[_Looking after_ MURIEL.] Quex! ha, there's a lucky dog, now!

DUCHESS.