[_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