Yes.
Quex.
The key. [Imperatively.] Give me the key. [She runs into the bedroom and, having laid the written message upon the bed, disappears for a moment. He refills his tumbler and drinks, chuckling sardonically as he does so.] Ha, ha, ha! [She returns with the key, which he pockets.] The bell that rings in your maid's room—? [She points to the bell-rope hanging beside the passage-door.] Good. [Motioning to her to go.] Now— [She is going towards the other door; he detains her.] Hist! [Thoughtfully.] If anything unusual should occur, remember that we were simply discussing books and pictures in the Italian garden before dinner.
Duchess.
[Intently.] Books and pictures—of course. [In an outburst.] Oh, you are certain you can save my reputation?
Quex.
[Politely.] Yours at least, my dear Duchess. Sleep well.
[She is about to open the door when a thought strikes her and she again runs up to the bed.
Duchess.
Ah—!