ST. OLPHERTS. Yes, yes--a little family gossip, to pass the time while
she has been dressing her hair or--By the bye, she doesn't appear to
spend much time in dressing her hair.
LUCAS. [Biting his lip.] Really?
ST. OLPHERTS. Then she denounced the gilded aristocracy generally. Our
day is over; we're broken wooden dolls, and are going to be chucked.
The old tune; but I enjoyed the novelty of being so near the
instrument. I assure you, dear fellow, I was within three feet of her
when she deliberately Trafalgar Squared me.
LUCAS. [With an uneasy laugh.] You're the red rag, Duke. This spirit of
revolt in her--it's ludicrously extravagant; but it will die out in
time, when she has become used to being happy and cared for--[partly
to himself, with clenched hands]--yes, cared for.
ST. OLPHERTS. Die out? Bred in the bone, dear Lucas.
LUCAS. On some topics she's a mere echo of her father, if you mean
that?
ST. OLPHERTS. The father--one of those public park vermin, eh?
LUCAS. Dead years ago.
ST. OLPHERTS. I once heard her bellowing in a dirty little shed in St.
Luke's. I told you?
LUCAS. Yes, you've told me.
ST. OLPHERTS. I sat there again, it seemed, this afternoon. The orator
not quite so lean, perhaps--a little less witch-like; but--
LUCAS. She was actually in want of food in those days! Poor girl!
[Partly to himself.] I mean to remind myself of that constantly. Poor
girl!
ST. OLPHERTS. Girl! Let me see--you're considerably her junior?
LUCAS. No, no; a few months, perhaps.
ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, come!
LUCAS. Well, years--two or three.
ST. OLPHERTS. The voice remains rather raucous.
LUCAS. By God, the voice is sweet!
ST. OLPHERTS. Well--considering the wear and tear. Really, my dear
fellow, I do believe this--I do believe that if you gowned her
respectably--
LUCAS. [Impulsively.] Yes, yes, I say so. I tell her that.
ST. OLPHERTS. [With a smile.] Do you? That's odd, now.
LUCAS. What a topic. Poor Agnes's dress!
ST. OLPHERTS. Your taste used to be rather aesthetic. Even your own
wife is one of the smartest women in London.
LUCAS. Ha, well I must contrive to smother these aesthetic tastes of
mine.
ST. OLPHERTS. It's a pity that other people will retain their sense of
the incongruous.