Frayne.
There's another of 'em. Plain. [Watching MISS MOON as she goes out.] I don't know—rather alluring. [Finding Quex by his side.] Beg your pardon.
Quex.
Didn't hear you.
Glad of it. At the same time, old friend, you will forgive me for remarking that a man's virtuous resolutions must be—ha, ha!—somewhat feeble, hey?—when he flinches at the mere admiration of beauty on the part of a pal, connoisseur through that pal undoubtedly is.
Quex.
Oh, my dear Chick, my resolutions are firm enough.
Frayne.
[Dubiously.] H'm!