d have died but for me. I gave him life.
He is my child, my husband, my lover, my bread, my daylight--all--
everything. Mine! Mine!

ST. OLPHERTS. [Rising and limping over to her.] Good luck, my girl.

AGNES. Thanks!

ST. OLPHERTS. I'm rather sorry for you. This sort of triumph is
short-lived, you know.

AGNES. [Turning to him.] I know. But I shall fight for every moment
that prolongs it. This is my hour.

ST. OLPHERTS. Your hour--?

AGNES. There's only one hour in a woman's life.

ST. OLPHERTS. One--?

AGNES. One supreme hour. Her poor life is like the arch of a crescent;
so many years lead up to that hour, so many weary years decline from
it. No matter what she may strive for, there is a moment when
Circumstance taps her upon the shoulder and says "Woman, this hour is
the best that Earth has to spare you." It may come to her in calm or in
temper, lighted by a steady radiance or by the glitter of evil stars;
but however it comes, be it good or evil, it is her hour--let her
dwell upon every second of it!

ST. OLPHERTS. And this little victory of yours--the possession of this
man; you think this is the best that Earth can spare you? [She nods
slowly and deliberately, with fixed eyes.] Dear me, how amusin' you
women are! And in your dowdy days you had ambitions? [She looks at him
suddenly.] They were of a queer, gunpowder-and-faggot sort--but they
were ambitions.

AGNES. [Starting up.] Oh--! [Putting her hands to her brows.] Oh--!
[Facing him.] Yes, yes! You're right! Once, long ago, I hoped that my
hour would be very different from this. Ambitions! I have seen myself,
standing, humbly-clad, looking down upon a dense, swaying crowd--a
scarlet flag for my background. I have seen the responsive look upon
thousands of white, eager, hungry faces, and I've heard the great
hoarse shout of welcome as I have seized my flag and hurried down
amongst the people--to be given a place among their leaders! I! With
the leaders, the leaders! Yes, that is what I once hoped would be my
hour! [Her voice sinking.] But this is my hour.

ST. OLPHERTS. Well, my dear, when it's over, you'll have the
satisfaction of counting the departing footsteps of a ruined man.

AGNES. Ruined--!

ST. OLPHERTS. Yes, there's great compensation in that--for women.

AGNES. [Sitting.] Why do you suggest he'll be ruined through me?
[Uneasily.] At any rate, he'd ended his old career before we met.

ST. OLPHERTS. Pardon me; it's not now too late f