Duchess.
[Under her breath.] Ah! [He bows stiffly. She places the tumbler on the tray, tosses the handkerchief aside, and—first motioning him to stand away from the line of the door—opens the door, removes the ribbon from the handle, closes and locks it. Then she turns to him with a long-drawn sigh.] Ah—h—h!
Quex.
[Coming down gloomily.] Is it all right?
Duchess.
Quite. [Advancing to him with outstretched hands.] Welcome, Harry! oh, welcome!
Quex.
[Retreating a few steps—firmly.] One moment. I have something to ask of you, Sidonia. [Looking round.] You are sure—?
Duchess.
Yes, yes. Only don't raise your voice; [glancing towards the door] my maid sleeps in a room at the end of that passage. [Gracefully seating herself upon the settee and motioning him to sit beside her.] Sit down. Oh, the woe of this final meeting! the pathos of it!