[_Finding_ QUEX _by his side._] Beg your
pardon.
QUEX.
Didn't hear you.
FRAYNE.
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!
QUEX.
And my prudery is consistent with the most laudable intentions, I assure
you. But the fact is, dear chap, I go in fear and trembling--
FRAYNE.
Ah!
QUEX.
No, no, not for my strength of mind--fear lest any trivial act of mine,
however guileless; the most innocent glance in the direction of a
decent-looking woman; should be misinterpreted by the good ladies in
whose hands I have placed myself--especially aunt Julia. You remember
Lady Owbridge?
FRAYNE.
Why did you intrust yourself--?
QUEX.
My one chance! [_Taking_ FRAYNE _to the table, against which they both
lean shoulder to shoulder--his voice falling into a strain of
tenderness.
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