AGNES. Apart from you.
LUCAS. No, no. You'll not do that!
AGNES. Lucas, this evening, two or three hours ago, you planned out the life we were to lead in the future. We had done with "madness", if you remember; henceforth we were to be "mere man and woman."
LUCAS. You agreed—
AGNES. Then. But we hadn't looked at each other clearly then, as mere man and woman. You, the man—what are you? You've confessed—
LUCAS. I lack strength; I shall gain it.
AGNES. Never from me—never from me. For what am I? Untrue to myself, as you are untrue to yourself; false to others, as you are false to others; passionate, unstable, like yourself; like yourself, a coward. I —I was to lead women! I was to show them, in your company, how laws— laws made and laws that are natural—may be set aside or slighted; how men and woman may live independent and noble lives without rule, guidance or sacrament. I was to be the example—the figure set up for others to observe and imitate. But the figure was made of wax—it fell awry at the first hot breath that touched it! You and I! What a partnership it has been! How base, and gross, and wicked, almost from the very beginning! We know each other now thoroughly—how base and wicked it would remain! No, go your way, Lucas, and let me go mine.
LUCAS. Where—where are you going?
AGNES. To Ketherick—to think. [Wringing her hands.] Ah! I have to think, too, now, of the woman I have wronged.
LUCAS. Wronged?