Sophy.
[Facing him.] Come, my lord! not so fast! After all, remember, Captain Bastling may be poor, but he's Miss Eden's match in other ways.
Quex.
Match?
Sophy.
Young, and good-looking. Oh, and isn't it natural—?
Quex.
Quite natural—quite. [Turning to Frayne.] Chick, what an ass I've been; what fools we old chaps are, all of us! Why, if I had led the life of a saint, it would only be necessary for a man like this Bastling to come along, to knock me out. Good lord, how clear it is, when it's brought home to you in this fashion! It isn't the scamp, the roué, a girl shies at; it's the old scamp, the old roué. She'll take the young one, the blackguard with a smooth skin and a bright eye, directly he raises a hand—take him without a murmur, money-hunter though he may be. Take him! by Jove, she leaps into his arms!
Frayne.
D'ye mean that Bastling—?