QUEX.

[Under his breath, glaring at her.] You—! [Coolly.] Oh, now I understand.  Yes, my dear, but Miss Eden is scarcely likely to believe that a modest girl would carry her devotion to this extent.  Good heavens! why, your attire—! [She pulls her robe about her sharply.] And a woman who compromises herself, recollect, is never measured by her own character, always by her companion’s.

[She starts to her feet and paces the room, uttering cries of anger and indignation.  He continues to interest himself in the books.

SOPHY.

Oh! no, no! my darling wouldn’t think it of me! when I’ve abused you so continually! she surely couldn’t! oh! oh! [With flashing eyes.] Now, look here, my lord! you don’t really imagine that I’m going to stick in this room with you patiently all through the night, do you?

QUEX.

How do you propose to avoid it?

SOPHY.

[Pointing to the passage-door.] As true as I’m alive, if you don’t unlock that door, I—­I—­I’ll scream the place down!

QUEX.

Why scream? [Pointing to the bell-rope which hangs beside the door.] There’s the bell.  I daresay a servant or two is still up and about.  You’d rouse the house quicker in that way.

SOPHY.

Much obliged to you for the hint.  I will—­I will—­[She goes to the bell-rope and grasps it; then she looks round and sees him calmly turning the leaves of a book he has selected.  She stares at him, with sudden misgiving.] Ha, now we shall see how much your grand scheme amounts to!

QUEX.

We shall.  Ring the bell.

SOPHY.

[Blankly.] What do you mean?

QUEX.

Pooh, my dear! ring, ring, ring! or yell!  You won’t be the first semi-circumspect young person who has got herself into a scrape and then endeavoured to save herself by raising a hullabaloo.

[She slowly takes her hand from the bell-rope and moves a step or two towards him.

SOPHY.

Oh, that’s what you’d try to make out, is it? [He raises his eyes from his book and gives her a significant look.  Leaning upon the arm of the settee, she says faintly.] You—­you—!

QUEX.

Yes, I tell you again, my dear, you have got yourself into a shocking mess.  You’ve got me into a mess, and you’ve got yourself in a mess.

SOPHY.

[Pulling herself up and advancing to him till she faces him.] You—­you are an awful blackguard, my lord.

QUEX.

Thank you, my dear.  But you’re not far wrong—­I was a blackguard till I met Miss Eden; and now, losing Miss Eden, perhaps I’m going to be a bigger blackguard than before.  At the same time, you know, there’s not much to choose between us; for you’re a low spy, an impudent, bare-faced liar, a common kitchen-cat who wriggles into the best rooms, gets herself fondled, and then spits. [Passing her and throwing himself, full-length, upon the settee and settling himself to read.] Therefore I’ve no compunction in making you pay your share of this score, my dear Sophy—­none whatever.