LUCAS. I intended to write to the brother directly they had left
Venice, to explain.
AGNES. Your describing me as "Mrs. Cleeve" at the hotel in Florence helped to lead us into this; after we move from here I must always be, frankly, "Mrs. Ebbsmith."
LUCAS. These were decent people. You and she had formed quite an attachment?
AGNES. Yes.
[She places his coat, &c. on a chair, then fetches her work-basket from the cabinet.]
LUCAS. There's something of the man in your nature, Agnes.
AGNES. I've anathematised my womanhood often enough. [She sits at the table, taking out her work composedly.]
LUCAS. Not that every man possesses the power you have acquired—the power of going through life with compressed lips.
AGNES. [Looking up, smiling.] A propos?
LUCAS. These people—this woman you've been so fond of. You see them shrink away with the utmost composure.