Why, can't you see that our being found together like this, here or anywhere, would do for _you_ as well as for me? QUEX. [_Rising._] Of course I see it. [_Advancing to her._] But, my dear Sophy, _I_ am already done for. _You_ provide for that. And so, if I have to part with my last shred of character, I will lose it in association with a woman of your class rather than with a lady whom I, with the rest of the world, hold in the highest esteem. SOPHY. [_After a pause._] Ho! oh, indeed? QUEX. Yes. Yes, indeed. SOPHY. [_With a shade less confidence._] Ha, ha! if your lordship thinks to frighten me, you've got hold of the wrong customer. Ha, ha, ha! two or three things you haven't reckoned for, I can assure you. Here's one--I told Miss Muriel exactly what I heard, between you and your Duchess, in the garden this evening. QUEX. [_Grinding his teeth._] You did! [_Involuntarily 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._] "Félix 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.