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 your 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.