Ponder?

Mrs. Eden.

Reflect. A man loves to think a girl is like an angel—beautiful pink and white right through, with no clockwork. The moment she complains of headache, or toothache, or a chilblain on the heel, the angel game is off, and she's got to try and hold her own as a simple mortal. And as a mortal she's not in it with a man. No, it's angel or nothing with us women. I remember my Mater saying to me when I was engaged to Jack, "Sybil, now mind! enjoy the very best of health till you have been married at least ten years; and then be sure you have an excellent motive for cracking-up." [The clock tinkles out the half-hour. She glances at the clock.] Half-past-eleven! the dead of night for this house! [Rising.] I'll be off to my cot.

[Sophy carries the Duchess's dress into the bedroom.

Duchess.

[Coming to Mrs. Eden.] Must you? Good-night.

Mrs. Eden.

So nice of you to allow me this gossip.

Duchess.

Delighted.