QUEX.

May I ask--the reason?

DUCHESS.

[_A newspaper in her hand--talking to him, in undertones, over the top
of it._] For a week, only the merest commonplaces have passed between
us. I must relieve my heart; it is bursting!

QUEX.

I entreat you to consider my position.

DUCHESS.

Yours! have _I_ no reputation to endanger? [_Rising--laying the paper
aside._] What a pitiably small request! you will grant it?

QUEX.

If you could see your way to excuse me--

DUCHESS.

In memory of the past--! I demand it!

QUEX.