oluntarily making a threatening
movement towards her._] You did, you--!

SOPHY.

[_Cowering over the settee._] Oh!

QUEX.

[_Recovering himself._] Oh, you did, did you?

SOPHY.

[_Facing him defiantly._] Yes, I did.

QUEX.

[_Coolly._] Well? and what then? You listen to a conversation carried on
in an open spot, from which your mischievous ears manage to detach the
phrase "to-night." My explanation, if I am called upon to make one, will
be absurdly simple.

SOPHY.

[_Derisively._] Ha, ha! will it! ha, ha, ha! I daresay!

QUEX.

Yes. You see, I promised her Grace that I would send a book to her room
to-night--_to-night_. My man had gone to bed; I brought it myself,
intending to hand it to Mrs. Watson, her maid. In the meantime, the
Duchess had joined Mrs. Eden and I found _you_ here.

SOPHY.

You couldn't tell such an abominable lie!

QUEX.

[_Imperturbably._] I found _you_ here. And then--what is the obvious
sequel to the story? [_Shrugging his shoulders._] I'm a wicked man,
Sophy, and you're an undeniably pretty girl--and the devil dared me.

SOPHY.

Oh--!

QUEX.

[_Taking up the bottle of champagne._] And an excellent banquet you had
chanced to provide for the occasion. [_Reading the label._] "Felix
Poubelle, Carte d'Or." It will appear, I am afraid, that you had been
preparing for the entertainment of some amorous footman.

SOPHY.

[_Snapping her fingers at him._] Puh! bah! Oh, the whole house shall
know that that is your Duchess's champagne.

QUEX.

Excuse me--Mr. Brewster, the butler, will disprove that tale. You
wheedled this out of him on your own account, remember.

SOPHY.

[_Disconcerted._] Oh--ah, yes--but--

QUEX.

For yourself, my dear Sophy.

SOPHY.

[_Falteringly._] Yes, but--but she made me do it.

QUEX.

She made you do it! [_Replacing the bottle, sternly._] And who, pray,
will accept your word, upon this or any other point, against that of a
lady of the position of the Duchess of Strood?

[_He walks away from her and examines the books upon the writing-table.
She sits on the settee, a blank expression upon her face._

SOPHY.

[_After a little consideration, wiping her brow with the back of her
hand._] At any rate, my darling--Miss Muriel--would quickly see through
a horrid trick of this sort.

QUEX.

I bet you a dozen boxes of gloves to a case of your manicure instruments
that she doesn't.

SOPHY.

I said to her to-day, at my place, that I was