? Why don't I go
at this very moment?

LUCAS. You really love me, do you mean--as simple, tender women are
content to love? [She looks at him, nods slowly, then turns away and
droops over the table. He raises her, and takes her in his arms.] My
dear girl! My dear, cold, warm-hearted girl! Ha! You couldn't bear to
see me packed up in one of the Duke's travelling boxes and borne back
to London--eh! [She shakes her head; her lips form the word "No".] No
fear of that, my--my sweetheart!

AGNES. [Gently pushing him from her.] Quick--dress--take me out.

LUCAS. You are shivering--get your thickest wrap.

AGNES. That heavy brown cloak of mine?

LUCAS. Yes.

AGNES. It's an old friend, but--dreadfully shabby. You will be ashamed
of me again.

LUCAS. Ashamed--!

AGNES. I'll write to Bardini about a new one tomorrow. I won't oppose
you--I won't repel you any more.

LUCAS. Repel me! I only urged you to reveal yourself as what you are--
a beautiful woman.

AGNES. Ah! Am I--that?

LUCAS. [Kissing her.] Beautiful--beautiful!

AGNES. [With a gesture of abandonment.] I'm--glad. [She leaves him and
goes out. He looks after her for a moment thoughtfully, then suddenly
passes his hands across his brow and opens his arms widely as if
casting a burden from him.]

LUCAS. Oh!--oh! [Turning away alertly.] Fortune--

END OF THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

[The Scene is the same as before, but it is evening, and the lamps are
lighted within the room, while outside it is bright moonlight.]

[AGNES, dressed as at the end of the preceding Act, is lying upon the
settee propped up by pillows. A pretty silk shawl, with which she plays
restlessly, is over her shoulders. Her face is pale, but her eyes
glitter, and her voice has a bright ring in it. KIRKE is seated at a
table writing. GERTRUDE, without hat or mantle, is standing behind the
settee, looking down smilingly upon AGNES.]

KIRKE. [Writing.] H'm--[To AGNES.] Are you often guilty of this sort
of thing?

AGNES. [Laughing.] I've never fainted before in my life; I don't mean
to do so again.

KIRKE. [Writing.] Should you alter your mind about that, do select a
suitable spot on the next occasion. What was it your head came against?

GERTRUDE. A wooden chest, Mr. Cleeve thinks.

AGNES. With beautiful, rusty, iron clamps. [Putting her hand to her
head, and addressing GERTRUDE.] The price of vanity.

KIRKE. Vanity?

AGNES. Lucas was to take me out to dinner. Whi