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.
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