ANTONIO. Alla Signora Cleeve!
NELLA. E poi abbiamo pagato il porto della ferrovia. (Besides, we have
paid the railway dues upon it.)
AGNES. [Collecting her sheets of paper.] Hush, hush! Don't trouble me
just now. Mettez-la n'importe ou. [They place the box upon another
table.]
NELLA. La corda intaccherebbe la forbice della Signora. Vuole che
Antonio la tagli. (The cord would blunt the Signora's scissors. Shall
Antonio cut the cord?)
AGNES. [Pinning her sheets of paper together.] I'll see about it bye
and bye. Laissez-moi!
NELLA. [Softly to ANTONIO.] Taglia, taglia! (Cut, cut!) [ANTONIO cuts
the cord, whereupon NELLA utters a little scream.]
AGNES. [Turning, startled.] What is it?
NELLA. [Pushing ANTONIO away.] Questo stupido non ha caoito la Signora
e ha tagliata la corda. (The stupid fellow misunderstood the Signora,
and has severed the cord.)
AGNES. [Rising.] It doesn't matter. Be quiet!
NELLA. [Removing the lid from the box angrily.] Ed ecco la scatola
aperta contro voglia della Signora! (And now here is the box open
against the Signora's wish) [Inquisitively pushing aside the paper
which covers the contents of the box.] O Dio! Si vede tutto quel che vi
e! (O God! And all the contents exposed!) [When the paper is removed,
some beautiful material trimmed with lace, &c., is seen.]
NELLA. Guardi, guardi, Signora! (Signora, look, look!) [AGNES examines
the contents of the box with a puzzled air.] Oh, che bellezza! (How
beautiful!)
ANTONIO. [To NELLA.] Il padrone. (The master.) [NELLA curtsies to
LUCAS, then withdraws with ANTONIO.]
AGNES. Lucas, the dressmaker in the Via Rondinelli at Florence--the
woman who ran up the little gown I have on now--
LUCAS. [With a smile] What of her?
AGNES. This has just come from her. Phuh! What does she mean by sending
that showy thing to me?
LUCAS. It is my gift to you.
AGNES. [Producing enough of the contents of the box to reveal a very
handsome dress.] This!
LUCAS. I knew Bardini had your measurements; I wrote to her,
instructing her to make that. I remember Lady Heytesbury in something
similar last season.
AGNES. [Examining the dress.] A mere strap for the sleeve, and
sufficiently decolletee, I should imagine.
LUCAS. My dear Agnes, I can't understand your reason fro trying to make
yourself a plain-looking woman when nature intended you for a pretty
one.
AGNES. Pretty!
LUCAS. [Looking hard at her.] You are pretty.
AGNES. Oh, as a girl I may have been--[disdainfully]--pretty. What
good did it do anybody? [Fingering the dress with aversion.] And when
would you have me hang this on my bones?