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Page 79
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.
[_She walks feebly to the passage-door and stands rattling the handle in
an uncertain way. At last she breaks down and cries a little._
SOPHY.
Oh! oh! oh! let me go, my lord. [_He makes no response._] Do let me
go--please! will you? [_Approaching him and wiping her eyes upon the
sleeve of her night-dress._] I hope your lordship will kindly let me go.
QUEX.
[_Shortly._] No.
SOPHY.
[_Steadying herself._] I don't want to rouse the house at this time o'
night if I can help it--
QUEX.
Don't you?
SOPHY.
Though I am certain I can make my story good anyway. But I'd rather your
lordship let me out without the bother--[_Piteously._] Do! [_He turns a
leaf of his book. She speaks defiantly._] Very well! very well! here I
sit then! [_Seating herself._] We'll see who tires first, you or I! you
or I! [_Again snapping her fingers at him._] Bah! you horror!
you--horror!
QUEX.
[_Raising himself on his elbow._] Will you have this sofa? [_She gives
him a fierce look._] A glass of your wine?
[_She rises, with a stamp of the foot, and once more paces the room. He
sips his wine and re-settles himself. She goes distractedly from one
object to another, now leaning upon a chair, then against the pillar of
the cheval-glass. Ultimately she comes to the bell-rope and fingers it
again irresolutely._
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