OLPHERTS. Completely. [Struck by an idea.] Unless you--
AGNES. [Turning to him.] Unless I--
ST. OLPHERTS. Unless you--
AGNES. [After a moment's pause.] What did Lucas say to you when you--?
ST. OLPHERTS. He said he knew you'd never make that sacrifice for him.
[She pulls herself up rigidly.] So he declined to pain you by asking
you to do it.
AGNES. [Crossing swiftly to the settee, and speaking straight into his
face.] That's a lie!
ST. OLPHERTS. Keep your temper, my dear.
AGNES. [Passionately.] His love may not last--it won't!--but at this
moment he loves me better than that! He wouldn't make a mere light
thing of me!
ST. OLPHERTS. Wouldn't he? You try him!
AGNES. What!
ST. OLPHERTS. You put him to the test!
AGNES. [With her hands to her brows.] Oh--!
ST. OLPHERTS. No, no--don't!
AGNES. [Faintly.] Why?
ST. OLPHERTS. I like you. Damn him--you deserve to live your hour!
[LUCAS enters with a letter in his hand. AGNES sits.]
LUCAS. [Giving ST. OLPHERTS the letter.] Thanks. [St. OLPHERTS pockets
the letter and picks up his cloak, LUCAS assisting him.]
AGNES. [Outwardly calm.] Oh--Lucas--
LUCAS. Yes?
AGNES. The Duke has been--has been--telling me--
LUCAS. What, dear?
AGNES. The sort of arrangement proposed for your going back to London.
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