Agnes.  Entrez!

[Fortune and Antonio enter, Antonio carrying tea, &c., upon a tray.]

Agnes. [To st. Olpherts.] You drink tea—­fellow sufferer? [He signifies assent.  Fortune places the tray on the table, then withdraws with Antonio.  Agnes pours out tea.]

St. Olpherts. [Producing a little box from his waistcoat pocket.] No milk, dear lady.  And may I be allowed—­saccharine? [She hands him his cup of tea; their eyes meet.]

Agnes. [Scornfully.] Tell me now—­really—­why do the Cleeves send a rip like you to do their serious work?

St. Olpherts. [Laughing heartily.] Ha, ha, ha!  Rip! ha, ha!  Poor solemn family!  Oh, set a thief to catch a thief, you know.  That, I presume, is their motive.

Agnes. [Pausing in the act of pouring out, and staring at him.] What do you mean?

St Olpherts. [Sipping his tea.] Set a thief to catch a thief.  And by deduction, set one sensualist—­who, after all, doesn’t take the trouble to deceive himself—­to rescue another who does.

Agnes.  If I understand you, that is an insinuation against Mr. Cleeve.

St. Olpherts.  Insinuation!—­

Agnes. [Looking at him fixedly.] Make yourself clearer.

St. Olpherts.  You have accused me, Mrs. Ebbsmith, of narrowness of outlook.  In the present instance, dear lady, it is your judgement which is at fault.

Agnes.  Mine?

St. Olpherts.  It is not I who fall into the error of confounding you with the designing danseuse of commerce; it is, strangely enough, you who have failed in your estimate of Mr. Lucas Cleeve.

Agnes.  What is my estimate?

St. Olpherts.  I pay you the compliment of believing that you have looked upon my nephew as a talented young gentleman whose future was seriously threatened by domestic disorder; a young man of a certain courage and independence, with a share of the brain and spirit of those terrible human pests called reformers; the one gentleman, in fact, most likely to aid you in advancing your vivacious social and political tenets.  You have such thoughts in your mind?

Agnes.  I can’t deny it.

St. Olpherts.  Ah!  But what is the real, the actual Lucas Cleeve?

Agnes.  Well—­what is the real Lucas Cleeve?

St Olpherts.  Poor dear fellow!  I’ll tell you. [Going to the table to deposit his cup there; while she watches him, her hand tightly clasped, a frightened look in her eyes.] The real Lucas Cleeve. [Coming back to her.] An egoist.  An egoist.

Agnes.  An egoist, Yes.

St. Olpherts.  Possessing ambition without patience, self-esteem without self-confidence.