SIR GEORGE. Do you mind seeing that I'm not robbed by my gondolier? [He goes out.]
AGNES. [Giving the medicine to LUCAS, undisturbed.] Here, dear.
KIRKE. [To AGNES.] May I pop in tonight for my game of chess?
AGNES. Do, doctor; I shall be very pleased.
KIRKE. [Shaking her hand in a marked way.] 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?