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 endeavoured 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 arm of the settee, she says faintly.] You—you—!
Quex.
Yes, I tell you again, my dear, you have got 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.