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. [Almost inaudibly.] I suppose so.

Lucas.  As a matter of fact, he has the reputation of being rather a pleasant companion; though I—­I confess—­I—­I don’t find him very entertaining. [He goes out.  She stands staring at the door through which he has disappeared.  There is a knock at the opposite door.]

Agnes. [Rousing herself.] Fortune! [Raising her voice.] Fortune! [The door opens, and Gertrude enters hurriedly.]

Gertrude.  Fortune is complacently smoking a cigarette in the Campo.

Agnes.  Mrs. Thorpe!

Gertrude. [Breathlessly.] Mr Cleeve is out, I conclude?

Agnes.  No.  He is later than usual going out this afternoon.

Gertrude. [Irresolutely.] I don’t think I’ll wait, then.

Agnes.  But do tell me:  you have been crossing the streets to avoid me during the past week; what has made you come to see me now?

Gertrude.  I would come.  I’ve given poor Amos the slip; he believes I am buying beads for the Ketherick school-children.

Agnes. [Shaking her head.] Ah, Mrs. Thorpe!—­