LUCAS. [In a low voice.] Yes, but—is that possible?
AGNES. [In the same tone, watching him askance, a frightened look in her eyes.] Why not?
LUCAS. Young man and woman . . . you and love . . . ? Scarcely upon this earth, my dear Agnes, such a life as you have pictured.
AGNES. I say it can be, it can be—!
[FORTUNE enters, carrying a letter upon a salver, and a beautiful bouquet of white flowers. He hands the note to LUCAS.]
LUCAS. [Taking the note, glancing at AGNES.] Eh! [To FORTUNE, pointing to the bouquet.] Qu'avez-vous la?
FORTUNE. Ah, excuse. [Presenting the bouquet to AGNES.] Wiz compliment.
[AGNES takes the bouquet wonderingly.] Tell Madame ze Duke of St
Olphert bring it in person, 'e says.
LUCAS. [Opening the note.] Est-il parti?
FORTUNE. 'E did not get out of 'is gondola.
LUCAS. Bien. [FORTUNE withdraws. Reading the note aloud.] "While brushing my hair, my dear boy, I became possessed of a strong desire to meet the lady with whom you are now improving the shining hour. Why the devil shouldn't I, if I want to. Without prejudice, as my lawyer says, let me turn up this afternoon and chat pleasantly to her of Shakespeare, also the musical glasses. Pray hand her this flag of truce —I mean my poor bunch of flowers—and believe me yours, with a touch of gout, ST. OLPHERTS." [Indignantly crushing the note.] Ah!