[_Severely._] I could only
hope that his surmise was an incorrect one.
SOPHY.
[_Her eyes flashing scornfully._] You see, your Grace, if a woman is
pretty, and Valma finds Venus's girdle well marked in her palm; and if
he concludes from other signs that she's vain and light and loose; it
isn't much to suppose that there are a few horrid men licking their lips
at the thought of her.
DUCHESS.
[_Shocked._] My good girl! what curious expressions you make use of!
[_Resuming her reading._] That's all.
[SOPHY _goes to the door and opens it._
SOPHY.
I wish your Grace good-night.
DUCHESS.
[_Raising her head for a moment._] Good-night. You are not taking your
robe.
[SOPHY _looks at the robe and hesitates; in the end she gathers it up
uneasily._
SOPHY.
I--I am very much obliged to your Grace--
DUCHESS.
Yes, you have thanked me enough. Turn out the lamp in that passage.
SOPHY.
Certainly, your Grace.
[SOPHY _disappears, shutting the door after her. The_ DUCHESS _remains
quite still for a moment, then rises promptly, replaces her book,
and--seating herself at the dressing-table--puts her hair in order.
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