MRS. EDEN.

[_To_ SOPHY.] My hands need trimming up desperately badly. That maid of
mine is a fool at fingers.

SOPHY.

Can't you stay now?

MRS. EDEN.

[_With an impatient movement of the head towards_ LADY OWBRIDGE.] Oh,
lord, no. [_Suddenly._] I say, I wish you'd run down to Richmond, to
Fauncey Court, and do me. Could you?

SOPHY.

[_Innocently._] Oh, yes.

MRS. EDEN.

To-night, before dinner?

SOPHY.

I think I can.

MRS. EDEN.