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—