[_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.