[To himself, with a little groan.] Oh! phew!
[He walks to and fro impatiently, reflecting. Sophy, without her hat, comes quickly down the steps as if making for the table. Seeing Quex and the Duchess, she draws back, inquisitively.
Quex.
[By the Duchess's side again, helplessly.] Well, I—ha!—I—
Duchess.
[Rising eagerly, laying a hand upon his arm.] You will?
[Sophy stoops down behind the dwarf cypress-hedge.
Quex.
You are certain—certain that this would effectually remove the obstacle to your rejoining—[with a wave of the hand] on Friday?
Duchess.