SOPHY.

I hear you.

QUEX.

I should like to settle this business with you pleasantly—­if possible.  Allow me to say this.  I don’t think I am quite such an atrocious person as you appear to believe; in fact I can assure you I am not.

SOPHY.

[Gathering her robe about her and advancing a few steps.] You must excuse me, my lord, but—­[glancing round the room] you evidently forget where you are.

QUEX.

No, I don’t; but I tell you—­I tell you sincerely—­that my visit to her
Grace to-night was an innocent one.

SOPHY.

[Turning her head away, in great disdain.] Really!

QUEX.

Really.  You won’t accept money?

SOPHY.

No, indeed, I will not.

QUEX.

Very well.  Ha! it’s an odd attitude for a man like myself to adopt towards—­[indicating SOPHY by a motion of the hand.] But I make an appeal to you.

SOPHY.

[Elevating her eyebrows.] Appeal?

QUEX.

[With simple feeling and dignity.] I love Miss Eden.  I would be a good husband to that young lady.  Let me off.

SOPHY.

Let you off?

QUEX.

Don’t tell on me.  Don’t try to rob me of Miss Eden.  Let me off.

SOPHY.

I’m sorry to say I can’t, my lord.

QUEX

You won’t?

SOPHY.

I won’t. [With a slight inclination of the head QUEX turns away and stands leaning against the settee with his back towards SOPHY. The clock strikes the quarter-of-an-hour.  There is a short silence.] If your lordship has quite done with me—? [He makes no response.  She tosses her head.] I wish you good-night, my lord. [She goes to the passage-door and turns the handle.] It’s locked.  This door’s locked. [Looking at him.] The door’s locked. [Rattling at the door-handle.] Where’s the key? [Searching about on the floor near the door.] Where’s the—? [Coming forward a step or two.] Has your lordship got the key of this door? [Still obtaining no answer, she stands staring at him for a moment; then she goes quickly to the other door and tries the handle.  As she does so, QUEX turns sharply and, leaning upon the back of the settee, watches her.  After shaking the door-handle vigorously, she wheels round and faces him, indignantly.] What’s the meaning of this?

QUEX.

[Grimly.] Ah!

SOPHY.

Oh—! [She sweeps round to avoid him, and then runs into the bedroom.  When she has gone he seats himself in the chair by the writing-table in a lazy attitude, his legs stretched out, his hands in his pockets.  After a moment or two she returns breathlessly.] I’m locked in!

QUEX.

Yes.