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.

Lucas. [Snapping his fingers.] Other people!—­

St. Olpherts.  The public.

Lucas.  The public?

St. Olpherts.  Come, you know well enough that unostentatious immodesty is no part of your partner’s programme.  Of course, you will find yourself by-and-bye in a sort of perpetual parade with your crack-brained visionary—­