[_Impatiently._] Oh! pooh!

MURIEL.

[_Leaving_ SOPHY.] Yes, after to-morrow he sha'n't find me looking a
guilty fool whenever he speaks to me--by Jove, he sha'n't! I believe he
guessed I haven't seen Moses in the Bulrushes!

SOPHY.

But, dear, how do you know what Captain Bastling means to say to you
to-morrow?

MURIEL.

[_Pausing in her walk._] To say?--good-bye.

SOPHY.

Suppose he asks you to put him out of his misery--marry him directly, on
the quiet?

MURIEL.

[_A little unsteadily._] Then I shall tell him finally--my word is given
to Lord Quex.

SOPHY.

[_Coming to her again._] Given!--wrung out of you. And just for that