Deadly. But the worst of it is, [with a bow and a sigh] we have no European ladies.
[Muriel—eyeing the Duchess—rises, shrinkingly, and steals away.
Frayne.
[Looking after Muriel.] Quex! ha, there's a lucky dog, now!
Duchess.
[Sweetly.] You are delighted, naturally, at your old friend's approaching marriage?
Frayne.
[Kissing his finger-tips towards the left.] Miss Eden—! [Inquisitively.] And—and you, Duchess?
Duchess.
[Raising her eyebrows.] I?