] Thank you. [He follows SIR
GEORGE.]
AGNES. [Looking after him.] Liberal little man.
[She has LUCAS' overcoat in her hand: a small pen-and-ink drawing of a
woman's hand drops from one of the pockets. They pick it up together.]
AGNES. Isn't that the sketch you made of me in Florence?
LUCAS. [Replacing it in the coat-pocket.] Yes.
AGNES. You are carrying it about with you?
LUCAS. I slipped it into my pocket, thinking it might interest the
Duke.
AGNES. [Assisting him with his overcoat.] Surely I am too obnoxious in
the abstract for your uncle to entertain such a detail as a portrait.
LUCAS. It struck me that it might serve to correct certain preconceived
notions of my people's.
AGNES. Images of a beautiful temptress with peach-blossomed cheeks and
stained hair?
LUCAS. That's what I mean; they suspect a decline of taste on my part,
of that sort. Good-bye, dear.
AGNES. Is this mission of the Duke of St Olpherts the final attempt to
part us, I wonder? [Angrily, her voice hardening.] Why should they
harass and disturb you as they do?
LUCAS. [Kissing her.] Nothing disturbs me now that I know I and strong
and well. Besides, everybody will soon tire of being shocked. Even
conventional morality must grow breathless in the chase. [He leaves
her.
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