are disposed, my dear Sidonia--at times, perhaps, a little
inopportunely--to burn a good deal of red fire. [_Leaning forward._] At
any rate, I beg an especial favour of you to-night.

DUCHESS.

What--?

QUEX.

[_Distinctly._] No red fire.

DUCHESS.

[_Chilled._] Is this the something you had to ask of me? [_He bows in
assent._] I cannot remember ever having seen you in this mood.

QUEX.

This is our first actual _tête-à-tête_ since my engagement to Miss Eden.

DUCHESS.

Oh, I understand.

QUEX.

And now shall I tell you where the wofulness and the pathos most
conspicuously display themselves on this occasion?