Poor women! Nevertheless, pray be careful how you slight the manicure trade. Crazes die, you know—nails grow.
Pollitt.
[Tapping his breast.] I think we have come to stay, my lord.
Quex.
[Lightly.] Well, you're sailing pretty close to the wind, remember, you fellows.
Pollitt.
My lord!
[Replacing his newspaper upon the table.] And if some day you should find yourselves in the police-court, alongside a poor old woman whose hand has been crossed with a threepenny-bit down an area—
The Duchess appears on the further side of the low cypress-hedge. She is dressed for dinner. The sky is now faintly rosy, and during the ensuing scene it deepens into a rich sunset.