[Lady Owbridge and the Duchess, and Mrs. Eden and Muriel, ascend the steps and go towards the house. Instead, of following the ladies, Quex turns sharply and comes forward with an angry, sullen look upon his face.
Frayne.
[Looking round for Quex.] Hallo, Harry! [Coming to Quex.] Aren't you—?
Quex.
Hang dinner! I don't want to eat.
Frayne.
Anything wrong, old man? anything I—?
Quex.
[Shaking himself up.] No, no; nothing—the hot weather. Come along; we mustn't be late for grace. [Boisterously.] At any rate, a glass of champagne—[slapping Frayne on the back] a glass or two of Félix Poubelle, hey? Félix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! ha, ha, ha!
[As they turn to go, they see Sophy on the other side of the low hedge, looking at them steadily.