[Serenely.] An acquaintance of many years' standing. But since his Grace has been an invalid we have lived much abroad, or in seclusion, and gossip has not reached us. Alas, you find me a ready subject à désillusionner! [Rising.] We are in the sun. Shall we walk?

Mrs. Eden.

[Sympathetically, as they walk.] Is his Grace still very unwell?

Duchess.

[Smiling sadly upon Mrs. Eden.] He is still over seventy.

[They wander away, through the trees, as Quex and Muriel leave the fountain.

Quex.

[With tender playfulness, first glancing at the sleeping Lady Owbridge.] And so all these good things are to befall me after to-morrow?

Muriel.

[In a low voice.] After to-morrow.