[Enveloping his hand and the bottle in the pillow—calmly.] It is wiser to muffle it.
[He pauses, looking at her fixedly.
Quex.
[In a low, grave voice.] Dolly—
Duchess.
Dolly! [Closing her eyes.] You give me my pet name again!
Quex.
Ah, Dolly, if only there wasn't quite so much in one's life—to muffle! [He pulls the cork. She tosses the pillow on to the settee, a little irritably.] May I—?
[She inclines her head. He pours wine into the glasses; she takes the champagne glass, he the tumbler.