Gertrude.  But don’t you and Mr. Cleeve—­talk to each other?

Agnes.  As children do when the lights are put out—­of everything but what’s uppermost in their minds.

Gertrude.  You have met the man?

Agnes.  I intend to meet him.

Gertrude.  Who is he?

Agnes.  A relation of Lucas’s—­the Duke of St. Olpherts

Gertrude.  He has right on his side, then?

Agnes.  If you choose to think so.

Gertrude.  Supposing he does succeed in taking Mr. Cleeve away from you?

Agnes. [Staring at Gertrude.] What, now, do you mean?

Gertrude.  Yes.

[There is a brief pause; then Agnes walks across the room, wiping her brow with her handkerchief.]

Agnes.  I tell you, that idea’s—­preposterous.

Gertrude.  Oh, I can’t understand you.

Agnes.  You’ll respect my confidence?

Gertrude.  Agnes!

Agnes. [Sitting.] Well, I fancy this man’s presence here has simply started me thinking of a time—­oh, it may never come!—­a time when I may cease to be—­necessary to Mr. Cleeve.  Do you understand?

Gertrude.  I remember what you told me of your being prepared to grant each other freedom if—­

Agnes.  Yes, yes; and for the past few days this idea has filled me with a fear of the most humiliating kind.

Gertrude.  What fear?

Agnes.  The fear lest, after all my beliefs and protestations, I should eventually find myself loving Lucas in the helpless, common way of women—­

Gertrude. [Under her breath.] I see.

Agnes.  The dread that the moment may arrive some day when should it be required of me, I shan’t feel myself able to give him up easily. [Her head drooping, uttering a low moan.] Oh!—­

[Lucas, dressed for going out, enters, carrying Agnes’s copy of his manuscript, rolled and addressed for the post.  Agnes rises.]

Agnes. [To Lucas.] Mrs. Thorpe starts for home tomorrow; she has called to say good-bye.

Lucas. [To Gertrude.] It is very kind.  Is your brother quite well?

Gertrude. [Embarrassed.] Thanks:  quite.

Lucas. [Smiling.] I believe I have added to his experience of the obscure corners of Venice during the past week.

Gertrude.  I—­I don’t—­Why?

Lucas.  By so frequently putting him to the inconvenience of avoiding me.

Gertrude.  Oh, Mr. Cleeve, we—­I—­I—­

Lucas.  Please tell your brother that I asked after him.

Gertrude.  I—­I can’t; he—­doesn’t know I’ve—­I’ve—­

Lucas.  Ah!  Really? [With a bow.] Good-bye. [He goes out, Agnes accompanying him to the door.]