[Rather irritably.] I say, all of them.
Frayne.
No trouble with Lady—?
Quex.
No, no, no, no.
Frayne.
What about the little Duchess? [Quex pauses in his examination of a nail-clipper.] Eh?
Quex.
[Turning to him, slightly embarrassed.] Odd that you should mention her.
Frayne.