Sophy.
[Arranging her manicure instruments, &c., upon the table.] No trouble at all, my lord—quite an honour. [Indicating the stone bench.] Please sit down there. [Producing a little brass bowl.] Water—?
[She runs to the fountain and fills her bowl from its basin.
Quex.
[Crossing, hesitatingly, to the right—looking at his nails and speaking in a formal manner.] You have been bidden to Fauncey Court for rest and relaxation, Miss Fullgarney; it is most obliging of you to allow your pleasure to be disturbed in this way.
Sophy.
[Returning to him.] Oh, don't say that, my lord. [Putting the bowl on the table and dragging the garden-chair forward to face him.] Business is a pleasure, sometimes.
[Her close proximity to him forces him back upon the bench.
Quex.
[Seated—stiffly.] You must, at least, let me open an account at your excellent establishment.