or him to resume that
career. The threads are not quite broken yet.

AGNES. Oh, the scandal in London--

ST. OLPHERTS. Would be dispelled by this sham reconciliation with his
wife.

AGNES. [Looking at him.] Sham--?

ST. OLPHERTS. Why, of course. All we desired to arrange was that for
the future their household should be conducted strictly a la mode.

AGNES. A la mode?

ST. OLPHERTS. [Behind the settee, looking down upon her.] Mr. Cleeve in
one quarter of the house, Mrs. Cleeve in another.

AGNES. Oh, yes.

ST. OLPHERTS. A proper aspect to the world, combined with freedom on
both sides. It's a more decorous system than the aggressive Free Union
you once advocated; and it's much in vogue at my end of town.

AGNES. Your plan was a little more subtle than I gave you credit for.
This was to be your method of getting rid of me!

ST. OLPHERTS. No, no. Don't you understand? With regard to yourself, we
could have arrived at a compromise.

AGNES. A compromise?

ST. OLPHERTS. It would have made us quite happy to see you placed upon
a--upon a somewhat different footing.

AGNES. What kind of--footing?

ST. OLPHERTS. The suburban villa, the little garden, a couple of
discreet servants--everything a la mode.

[There is a brief pause. The she rises and walks across the room,
outwardly calm but twisting her hands.]

AGNES. Well, you've had Mr. Cleeve's answer to that.

ST. OLPHERTS. Yes.

AGNES. Which finally disposes of the whole matter--disposes of it--

ST. OLPHERTS. Completely. [Struck by an idea.] Unless you--

AGNES. [Turning to him.] Unless I--

ST. OLPHERTS. Unless you--

AGNES. [After a moment's pause.] What did Lucas say to you when you--?

ST. OLPHERTS. He said he knew you'd never make that sacrifice for him.
[She pulls herself up rigidly.] So he declined to pain you by asking
you to do it.

AGNES. [Crossing swiftly to the settee, and speaking straight into his
face.] That's a lie!

ST. OLPHERTS. Keep your temper, my dear.

AGNES. [Passionately.] His love may not last--it won't!--but at this
moment he loves me better than that! He wouldn't make a mere light
thing of me!

ST. OLPHERTS. Wouldn't he? You try him!

AGNES. What!

ST. OLPHERTS. You put him to the test!

AGNES. [With her hands to her brows.] Oh--!

ST. OLPHERTS. No, no--don't!

AGNES. [Faintly.] Why?

ST. OLPHERTS. I like you. Damn him--you deserve to live your hour!

[LUCAS enters with a letter in his hand. AGNES sits.