[Going to the writing-table and taking up a book.] No. I will do it. The exertion of brushing my hair, I often find, encourages sleep. I'll put myself to bed. Run away. Don't let me see or hear anything of you till the morning. Eight o'clock. [She reclines upon the settee and opens her book. Sophy, eyeing her keenly, is about to withdraw.] Oh—Sophy! [Sophy returns.] Do you—believe in Mr. Valma?
Sophy.
Believe in him, your Grace?
Believe that when he reads a woman's hand he has really the power of divination—the power he professes?
Sophy.
Oh, yes.
Duchess.
[Looking away.] Then if he tells a woman that a great many men are deeply in love with her, you—you—?
Sophy.