I don't tell you that your appearance is beginning to offend.

LUCAS. Offend! Agnes, you--you pain me. I simply fail to understand
why you should allow our mode of life to condemn you to perpetual
slovenliness.

AGNES. Slovenliness!

LUCAS. No, no, shabbiness.

AGNES. [Looking down upon the dress she is wearing.] Shabbiness!

LUCAS. [With a laugh.] Forgive me, dear; I'm forgetting you are wearing
a comparatively new afternoon-gown.

AGNES. At any rate, I'll make this brighter tomorrow with some
trimmings willingly. [Pointing to the dressmaker's box.] Then you won't
insist on my decking myself out in rags of that kind--eh! There's
something in the idea--I needn't explain.

LUCAS. [Fretfully.] Insist! I'll not urge you again. [Pointing to the
box.] Get rid of it somehow. Are you copying that manuscript of mine?

AGNES. I had just finished it.

LUCAS. Already! [Taking up her copy.] How beautifully you write! [Going
to her eagerly.] What do you think of my Essay?

AGNES. It bristles with truth; it is vital.

LUCAS. My method of treating it?

AGNES. Hardly a word out of place.

LUCAS [Chilled.] Hardly a word?

AGNES. Not a word, in fact.

LUCAS. No, dear, I daresay your "hardly" is nearer the mark.

AGNES. I assure you it is brilliant, Lucas.

LUCAS. What a wretch I am ever to find the smallest fault in you! Shall
we dine out tonight?

AGNES. As you wish, dear.

LUCAS. At the Grunwald? [He goes to the table to pick up his
manuscript; when his back is turned she looks at her watch quickly.]
We'll solemnly toast this, shall we, in Montefiascone?

AGNES. [Eyeing him askance.] You are going out for your chocolate this
afternoon as usual, I suppose?

LUCAS. Yes, but I'll look through your copy first, so that I can slip
it into the post at once. You are not coming out?

AGNES. Not till dinner-time.

LUCAS. [Kissing her on the forehead.] I talked over the points of this
--[tapping the manuscript]--with a man this morning; he praised some
of the phrases warmly.

AGNES. A man? [In an altered tone.] The Duke?

LUCAS. Er--yes.

AGNES. [With assumed indifference, replacing the lid on the
dressmaker's box.] You have seen him again today, then?

LUCAS. We strolled about together for half an hour on the Piazza.

AGNES. [Replacing the cord round the box.] You--you don't dislike him
as much as you did?

LUCAS. He's someone to chat to. I suppose one gets accustomed even to a
man one dislikes.

AGNES. [