_([Quex] immediately locks the door at w...

([Quex] immediately locks the door at which [the Duchess] has departed and slips the key into his waistcoat pocket. This done, he pulls the bell-rope communicating with the maid’s room and takes up a position against the wall so that the opening of the passage door conceals him from the view of the person entering. After a pause the door is opened and Sophy appears. The frills of her nightdress peep out from under the Mandarin robe, and she is wearing a pair of scarlet cloth slippers; altogether she presents an odd, fantastic figure. She pauses in the doorway hesitatingly, then steadies herself and, with a defiant air, stalks into the bedroom. Directly she has moved away, Quex softly closes the door, locks it, and pockets the key. Meanwhile Sophy, looking about the bedroom for the Duchess, discovers the paper upon the bed. She picks it up, reads it and replaces it, and, coming back into the boudoir, encounters Quex.)

Sophy: Oh!

Quex: (With a careless nod) Ah?

Sophy: (Recovering herself, and speaking with a contemptuous smile) So her Grace has packed herself off to Mrs. Eden’s room. (Firmly) Who rang for me, please?

Quex: I rang.

Sophy: You? What for?

Quex: Oh, you and I are going to have a cozy little chat together.

Sophy: (Haughtily) I don’t understand you.

Quex: We’ll understand one another well enough, in a minute

(He lights another cigarette and seats himself upon the settee. She moves to the back of a chair, eyeing him distrustfully.)

Quex: Now then! You’ve been at the key-hole, have you?

Sophy: (Slightly embarrassed) Y--yes.

Quex: (Sharply) Eh?

Sophy: (Defiantly) Yes; you know I have.

Quex: Ah. And I should like to know a little more, while we are upon the delicate subject of spying. When I found you behind the cypress-hedge this evening before dinner--

Sophy: Well?

Quex: You had just at that moment returned to the Italian garden, you said.

Sophy: Yes, so I said.

Quex: As a matter of fact, you had been there some time, I presume?

Sophy: A minute or two.

Quex: Heard anything?

Sophy: (Laughing maliciously) Ha, ha, ha! I heard her Grace say, “tonight”--(faintly mimicking the Duchess) “tonight!” (With a curl of the lip) That was enough for me.

Quex: Quite so. You told a deliberate lie, then, when I questioned you?

Sophy: Yes.

Quex: Earlier in the evening, that manicure game of yours--nothing but a damned cunning trick, eh?

Sophy: I beg you won’t use such language.

Quex: A trick, eh?

Sophy: Certainly.

Quex: You wanted--what did you want?

Sophy: (Disdainfully) A kiss, or a squeeze of the waist--anything of that sort would have done.

Quex: Oh, would it? You didn’t get what you wanted, though.

Sophy: No; I suppose you were frightened.

Quex: (Angrily) What!

Sophy: Too many people about for you.

Quex: (Stifling his annoyance) Tsch! If I had--(with a wave of the hand) what course would you have taken, pray?

Sophy: (With an air of great propriety) Complained at once to Lady Owbridge.

Quex: As it is--what do you think of doing now?

Sophy: About you and her Grace?

Quex: (Scowling) Yes.

Sophy: Oh, tell the ladies in the morning, first thing.

Quex: (Again putting a check upon himself) Ha, ha! Why do you behave in this contemptible way?

Sophy: It isn’t contemptible.

Quex: Isn’t it?

Sophy: Not under the circumstances.

Quex: What circumstances?

Sophy: (Hotly) A wicked man like you engaged to a sweet girl like Miss Muriel!

Quex: I see. (Politely) You don’t approve of the engagement?

Sophy: Should think not!

Quex: Always done your best to poison Miss Eden’s mind against me, I expect?

Sophy: Always let her know my opinion of you. And I was right!

Quex: Right?

Sophy: This very day, poor thing, she was saying how proud she is of you because you’ve turned over a new leaf for her sake; and I told her what your promises are worth. Yes, I was right! And now I can prove it!

(He rises; she hastily places herself on the other side of the chair.)

Quex: Look here! (Leaning against the table, the chair being between him and Sophy) What will you take to hold your tongue?

Sophy: Nothing.

Quex: Oh, but wait. This isn’t a matter of a handful of sovereigns. I’ll give you a couple of thousand pounds to keep quiet about this.

Sophy: No, thank you, my lord.

Quex: Four thousand.

Sophy: (Shaking her head) No.

Quex: Five.

Sophy: No.

Quex: How much?

Sophy: Not twenty thousand. I’m extremely comfortably off, my lord, but if I wasn’t I wouldn’t accept a penny of your money. All I wish is to save Miss Muriel from marrying a--a gentleman who isn’t fit for her. And that’s what I intend doing.

(They stand looking at each other for a moment, silently; then he walks away, thoughtfully.)

Quex: (In an altered tone) Come here.

Sophy: (With an eye on the door) Certainly not.

Quex: As you please. Miss Fullgarney--

Sophy: I hear you.

Quex: I should like to settle this business with you pleasantly--if possible. Allow me to say this. I don’t think I am quite such an atrocious person as you appear to believe; in fact I can assure you I am not.

Sophy: (Gathering her robe about her and advancing a few steps) You must excuse me, my lord, but--(glancing around the room) you evidently forgot where you are.

Quex: No, I don’t; but I tell you--I tell you sincerely--that my visit to her Grace tonight was an innocent one.

Sophy: (Turning her head away, in great disdain) Really!

Quex: Really. You won’t accept money?

Sophy: No, indeed, I will not.

Quex: Very well. Ha! It’s an odd attitude for a man like myself to adopt towards--(indicating Sophy by a motion of the hand). But I make an appeal to you.

Sophy: (Elevating her eyebrows) Appeal?

Quex: (With simple feeling and dignity) I love Miss Eden. I would be a good husband to that young lady. Let me off.

Sophy: Let you off?

Quex: Don’t tell on me. Don’t try to rob me of Miss Eden. Let me off.

Sophy: I’m sorry to say I can’t, my lord.

Quex: You won’t?

Sophy: I won’t. (With a slight inclination of the head Quex turns away and stands leaning against the settee with his back towards Sophy. The clock strikes the quarter-of-an-hour. There is a short silence.) If your lordship has quite done with me--? (He makes no response. She tosses her head.) I wish you goodnight, my lord. (She goes to the passage-door and turns the handle.) It’s locked. The door’s locked. (Rattling at the door-handle) Where’s the key? (Searching about on the floor near the door) Where’s the--? (Coming forward a step or two) Has you lordship got the key of this door? (Still obtaining no answer, she stands staring at him for a moment; then she goes quickly to the other door and tries the handle. As she does so, Quex turns sharply and, leaning upon the back of the settee, watches her. After shaking the door-handle vigorously, she wheels round and faces him, indignantly.) What’s the meaning of this?

Quex: (Grimly) Ah!

Sophy: Oh--! (She sweeps round to avoid him, and then runs into the bedroom. When she has gone he seats himself in the chair by the writing-table in a lazy attitude, his legs stretched out, his hands in his pockets. After a moment or two she returns breathlessly.) I’m locked in!

Quex: Yes.

Sophy: You have locked me in!

Quex: Yes.

Sophy: How dare you!

Quex: Why, you didn’t think you were going to have it all your own way, did you, Sophy?

Sophy: I’ll thank you to be less familiar. Let me out.

Quex: Not I.

Sophy: You let me out directly.

Quex: (Pointing a finger at her) You’ll gain nothing by raging, my good girl. Ha! Now you appreciate the curiously awkward position in which you have placed yourself.

Sophy: I’ve placed myself in no--

Quex: Oh, come, come! Taking me at my blackest, I’m not quite the kind of man that a young woman who prides herself upon her respectability desires to be mixed up with in this fashion.

Sophy: Mixed up with!

Quex: Well--(stretching out his arms) here we are, you know.

Sophy: Here we are!

Quex: You and I, dear Sophy. (Putting his leg over the arm of his chair) Now just sit down--

Sophy: I shan’t.

Quex: While I picture to you what will happen in the morning.

Sophy: In the morning?

Quex: In a few hours’ time. In the first place, you will be called in your room. You won’t be there.

Sophy: Won’t I!

Quex: No. You won’t be there. A little later my man will come to my room. I shan’t be there. At about the same hour, her Grace will require your attendance. Where will you be? She will then, naturally, desire to return to her own apartments. You are intelligent enough, I fancy, to imagine the rest. (After a brief pause, she breaks into a peal of soft, derisive laughter) I am deeply flattered by your enjoyment of the prospect.

Sophy: Ha, ha, ha! Why, you must take me for a fool!

Quex: Why?

Sophy: 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 “tonight.” 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 tonight--tonight. 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: (Imperturably) 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 on 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 today, at my place, that I was certain, if I could meet you alone in some quiet spot I could get a kiss out of you.

Quex: (Under his breath, glaring at her) You--! (Coolly) Oh, now I understand. Yes, my dear, but Miss Eden is scarcely likely to believe that a modest girl would carry her devotion to this extent. Good heavens! Why, your attire--! (She pulls her robe about her sharply.) And a woman who compromises herself, recollect, is never measured by her own character, always by her companion’s.

(She starts to her feet and paces the room, uttering cries of anger and indignation. He continues to interest himself in the books.)

Sophy: Oh! No, no! My darling wouldn’t think it of me! When I’ve abused you so continually! She surely couldn’t! Oh! Oh! (With flashing eyes) Now, look here, my lord! You don’t really imagine that I’m going to stick in this room with you patiently all through the night, do you?

Quex: How do you propose to avoid it?

Sophy: (Pointing to the passage-door) As trues as I’m alive, if you don’t unlock that door, I--I--I’ll scream the place down!

Quex: Why scream? (Pointing to the bell-rope which hangs beside the door) There’s the bell. I daresay a servant or two is still up and about. You’d rouse the house quicker in that way.

Sophy: Much obliged to you for the hint. I will--I will-- (She goes to the bell-rope and grasps it; then she looks round and sees him calmly turning the leaves of a book he has selected. She stares at him, with sudden misgivings.) Ha, now we shall see how much your grand scheme amounts to!

Quex: 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 endeavored 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 army of the settee, she says faintly) You--you--!

Quex: Yes, I tell you again, my dear, you have 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 resettles 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 irresolutely.)

Sophy: (Faintly) My lord! (He remains silent. She releases the bell-rope.) Oh--h--h! (She pauses by the settee, looking down upon him as though she would strike him; then she walks away and, seating herself in the chair by the bedside, drops her head upon the bed. The clock tinkles the half-hour. There is a short silence. Suddenly she rises, uttering a sharp cry, with her hand to her heart.) Oh! (Panting) Oh! Oh!

Quex: (Looking at her) What now?

Sophy: Valma!

Quex: Valma?

Sophy: Mr. Valma! Oh, you know he is in the house!

Quex: He! What’s he doing here?

Sophy: The housekeeper gave him permission to sleep here. You know! (Stamping her foot) Don’t you know?

Quex: (Sitting up, alertly) Ho! My jealous friend, the palmist. He is on the premises, hey?

Sophy: (Distractedly) Let me out! Oh, yes, he is jealous of me; he is jealous of me, and we’ve had a few words about you as it is--

Quex: Ah!

Sophy: Oh, this would ruin me with Valm! Oh, if your lordship hasn’t any feeling for me, don’t let Valma think that I’m a--that I’m-- (Going down on her knees before him) Oh, I won’t tell on you! I promise I won’t, if you’ll only let me go! I will hold my tongue about you and the Duchess! I take my solemn oath I’ll hold my tongue!

Quex: (Rising) Ha! (Calmly) No, my dear Sophy, I wasn’t aware that your fiancé is in the house. So the situation comes home to you a little more poignantly now, does it?

Sophy: (Rising and going to the passage-door) Unlock the door! Where’s the key?

Quex: Wait, wait, wait! And you’re going to keep your mouth shut after all, are you?

Sophy: (Rattling the door-handle) Yes, yes. Unlock it!

Quex: Don’t be in such a hurry.

Sophy: I give you my sacred word--

Quex: (Thoughtfully) Tsch, tsch, tsch! (Sharply, with a snap of the fingers) Yes--by Jove--! (Pointing to the chair by the writing-table) Sit down. (Imperatively) Sit down. (She sits, wonderingly. He goes to the table, selects a plain sheet of paper and lays it before her. Then he hands her a pen.) Write as I tell you.

Sophy: (Tremblingly) What?

Quex: (Pointing to the ink) Ink. (Dictating) “My lord.” (She writes; he walks about as he dictates.) “My lord. I am truly obliged to you--”

Sophy: Yes.

Quex: “For your great liberality--”

Sophy: (Turning) Eh?

Quex: (Sternly) Go on. (She writes.) “For your great liberality, and in once more availing myself of it I quite understand--”

Sophy: (Weakly) Oh! (After writing) Yes.

Quex: “I quite understand that our friendship comes to an end.” (She rises and faces him.) Go on.

Sophy: Our friendship!

Quex: Yes.

Sophy: Our--friendship!

Quex: Yes.

Sophy: I won’t.

Quex: Very well.

Sophy: How dare you try to make me write such a thing! (He turns from her and, book in hand, resumes his recumbent position on the sofa. She approaches him, falteringly.) What would you do with that, if I did write it?

Quex: Simply hold it in my possession, as security for you silence, until after my marriage with Miss Eden; then return it to you.

Sophy: Oh, won’t your lordship trust me?

Quex: (Contemptuously) Trust you! (After a pause, she returns to the writing-table and takes up her pen again.) Where were we?

Sophy: (Feebly) “I quite understand--”

Quex: “That our friendship comes to an end.” (She writes. He rises and looks over her shoulder.) “While thank you again for the past and present favours--”

Sophy: (Groaning as she writes) Oh! Oh!

Quex: “I undertake not to approach or annoy you in the future--”

Sophy: Oh!

Quex: “Upon any pretext whatsoever. Yours respectfully--” (After watching the completion of the letter) Date it vaguely-- (With a wave of the hand) “Monday afternoon.” Blot it. (Moving away) That’s right. (She rises, reading the letter with staring eyes. Then she comes to him and yields the letter, and he folds it neatly and puts it into his breast-pocket.) Thank you. I think I need detain you no longer.

Sophy: (With a gasp) Ah! Stop a bit! No, I won’t!

Quex: What’s the matter with you?

Sophy: (Wildly) Why, it’s like selling Muriel! Just to get myself out of this, I’m simply handing her over to you! I won’t do it! I won’t! (She rushes to the bell-rope and tugs at it again and again.) She shan’t marry you! She shan’t! I’ve said she shan’t, and she shan’t! (Leaving the bell-rope and facing him fiercely) Oh, let your precious Duchess go scot-free! After all, what does it matter who the woman is you’ve been sporting with, so that Miss Muriel is kept from falling into your clutches! Yes, I’ll make short work of you, my lord. The ladies shall hear from my mouth of the lively half-hour I’ve spent with you, and how I’ve suddenly funked the consequences and raised a hullabaloo! Now, my lord! Now then! Now then!

(His astonishment has given way to admiration; he gazes at her as if spell-bound.)

Quex: (After a pause, during which she stands before him panting) By God, you’re a fun plucked ‘un! I’ve never known a better. (Resolutely) No, my girl, I’m damned if you shall suffer! Quick! Listen! Pull yourself together!

Sophy: (Hysterically) Eh? Eh?

Quex: (Taking the letter from his pocket and thrusting it into her hand) Here’s your letter! Take it--I won’t have it. (Going quickly to the passage-door, unlocking it, and throwing the door open.) There you are!

Sophy: (Sobbing) Oh! Oh!

[(There is a hurried, irregular knocking at the door.)

Quex: (Gripping her arm) Hush! (In a whisper) Call out--wait!

Sophy: (Raising her voice--unsteadily) Wait--one moment!

Quex: (In her ear, as he gives her the key of the door) Say the Duchess is with Mrs. Jack; say she wants her letters brought to her in the morning; say anything--

Sophy: Yes, yes. (Weeping and shaking and gasping, she goes to the door and unlocks it. He tip-toes into the bedroom and turns out the light there. She opens the door an inch or two.) Yes?

Two Voices: (A man’s and a woman’s) What is it? What’s the matter?

Sophy: (Steadying herself, with an effort) Nothing. Only her Grace has gone to Mrs. Eden’s room and wishes her letters taken there in the morning most particularly--see?

Voices: What did you ring like that for? Thought the place was afire!

Sophy: Oh, don’t make a fuss about nothing. You servants are an old-fashioned lot. Bong swor!

Voices: (Angrily) Oh, goodnight.

Sophy: Ha, ha, ha!

(She closes the door and totters away from it, sobbing hysterically, as Quex comes to her.)]

Quex: (Kindly) Be off. Go to bed. Serve me how you please. Miss Fullgarney, upon my soul, I--I humbly beg your pardon.

Sophy: (Passing him) Oh! Oh! Oh! (Turning to him) Oh, God bless you! You--you--you’re a gentleman! I’ll do what I can for you!

(She staggers to the passage door and disappears, closing the door behind her. Then he extinguishes the remaining light, and cautiously lets himself out at the other door.)

Pinero, Sir Arthur Wing, The Gay Lord Quex, Project Gutenberg, 2005, pp. 178-209.