ose. Still, we have hardly yet set foot upon the path we've agreed
to follow. It is not too late for us, in our own lives, to pit the
highest interpretation upon that word--Love. Think of the inner
sustaining power it would give us! [More forcibly.] We agree to go
through the world together, preaching the lesson taught us by our
experiences. We cry out to all people, "Look at us! Man and woman who
are in the bondage of neither law nor ritual! Linked simply by mutual
trust! Man and wife, but something better than man and wife! Friends,
but even something better than friends!" I say there is that which is
noble, finely defiant, in the future we have mapped out for ourselves,
if only--if only--

LUCAS. Yes?

AGNES. [Turning from him.] If only it could be free from passion!

LUCAS. [In a low voice.] Yes, but--is that possible?

AGNES. [In the same tone, watching him askance, a frightened look in
her eyes.] Why not?

LUCAS. Young man and woman . . . you and love . . . ? Scarcely upon
this earth, my dear Agnes, such a life as you have pictured.

AGNES. I say it can be, it can be--!

[FORTUNE enters, carrying a letter upon a salver, and a beautiful
bouquet of white flowers. He hands the note to LUCAS.]

LUCAS. [Taking the note, glancing at AGNES.] Eh! [To FORTUNE, pointing
to the bouquet.] Qu'avez-vous la?

FORTUNE. Ah, excuse. [Presenting the bouquet to AGNES.] Wiz compliment.
[AGNES takes the bouquet wonderingly.] Tell Madame ze Duke of St
Olphert bring it in person, 'e says.

LUCAS. [Opening the note.] Est-il parti?

FORTUNE. 'E did not get out of 'is gondola.

LUCAS. Bien. [FORTUNE withdraws. Reading the note aloud.] "While
brushing my hair, my dear boy, I became possessed of a strong desire to
meet the lady with whom you are now improving the shining hour. Why the
devil shouldn't I, if I want to. Without prejudice, as my lawyer says,
let me turn up this afternoon and chat pleasantly to her of
Shakespeare, also the musical glasses. Pray hand her this flag of truce
--I mean my poor bunch of flowers--and believe me yours, with a touch
of gout, ST. OLPHERTS." [Indignantly crushing the note.] Ah!

AGNES. [Frowning at the flowers.] A taste of the oddities, I suppose?

LUCAS. He is simply making sport of us. [Going on to the balcony, and
looking out.] There he is. Damn that smile of his!

AGNES. Where? [She joins him.]

LUCAS. With the two gondoliers.

AGNES. Why--that's a beautiful face! How strange!

LUC