AGNES. [Rising, seizing his arm.] The picture he paints of you is not
wholly a false one. Sssh! Lucas. Hark! Attend to me! I resign myself to
it all! Dear, I must resign myself to it!
LUCAS. Resign yourself? Has life with me become so distasteful?
AGNES. Has it? Think! Why, when I realised the actual terms of our
companionship--why didn't I go on my own way stoically? 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.]