Kirke.  Vanity?

Agnes.  Lucas was to take me out to dinner.  While I was waiting for him to dress I must needs stand and survey my full length in a mirror.

Kirke. [Glancing at her.] A very excusable proceeding.

Agnes.  Suddenly the room sank and left me—­so the feeling was—­in the air.

Kirke.  Well, most women can manage to look in their pier-glasses without swooning—­eh, Mrs Thorpe?

Gertrude. [Smiling.] How should I know doctor?

Kirke. [Blotting his writing.] There.  How goes the time?

Gertrude.  Half past eight.

Kirke.  I’ll leave this prescription at Mantovani’s myself.  I can get it made up to-night.

Agnes. [Taking the prescription out of his hand playfully.] Let me look.

Kirke. [Protesting.] Now, now!

Agnes. [Reading the prescription.] Ha, ha!  After all, what humbugs doctors are!

Kirke.  You’ve never heard me deny it.

Agnes. [Returning the prescription to him.] But I’ll swallow it—­for the dignity of my old profession. [She reaches out her hand to take a cigarette.]

Kirke.  Don’t smoke too many of those things.

Agnes.  They never harm me.  It’s a survival of the time in my life when the cupboard was always empty. [Striking a match.] Only it had to be stronger tobacco in those days, I can tell you. [She lights her cigarette.  Gertrude is assisting Kirke with his overcoat.  Lucas enters, in evening dress, looking younger, almost boyish.]

Lucas. [Brightly.] Well?

Kirke.  She’s to have a cup of good bouillon—­Mrs. Thorpe is going to look after that—­and anything else she fancies.  She’s alright. [Shaking hands with Agnes.] The excitement of putting on that pretty frock—­[Agnes gives a hard little laugh.  Shaking hands with Lucas.] I’ll look in tomorrow. [Turning to Gertrude.] Oh, just a word with you, nurse. [Lucas has been bending over Agnes affectionately; he now sits by her, and they talk in undertones; he lights a cigarette from hers.]

Kirke. [To Gertrude.] There’s many a true word, et cetera.

Gertrude.  Excitement?

Kirke.  Yes, and that smart gown’s connected with it too.

Gertrude.  It is extraordinary to see her like this.

Kirke.  Not the same woman.

Gertrude.  No, nor is he quite the same man.

Kirke.  How long can you remain with her?

Gertrude.  Till eleven—­if you will let my brother know where I am.

Kirke.  What, doesn’t he know?

Gertrude.  I simply sent word, about an hour ago, that I shouldn’t be back to dinner.

Kirke.  Very well.