[He sits, his head bowed.
Duchess.
[Looking up.] To think—to think that I allowed this plausible creature to thrust herself upon me! [He raises his head, glaring fiercely. She beats the pillow.] Oh! oh! my reputation in the hands of this low creature!
Quex.
Ah—! [With a half-smothered cry he goes to the door and pulls it open. The Duchess runs after him and seizes his arm.] I said I'd wring her damned neck—I told Frayne so.
Duchess.
[Pushing him away from the door.] Don't! don't! violence will not help us. [She closes the door; he stands clutching the chair by the writing-table. The clock strikes twelve.] Midnight. [Leaning upon a chair.] At any rate, you had better go now.
Quex.
[Turning to her.] I beg your pardon; I regret having lost control of myself.
Duchess.