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.