LUCAS. It is my gift to you.
AGNES. [Producing enough of the contents of the box to reveal a very handsome dress.] This!
LUCAS. I knew Bardini had your measurements; I wrote to her, instructing her to make that. I remember Lady Heytesbury in something similar last season.
AGNES. [Examining the dress.] A mere strap for the sleeve, and sufficiently decolletee, I should imagine.
LUCAS. My dear Agnes, I can't understand your reason fro trying to make yourself a plain-looking woman when nature intended you for a pretty one.
AGNES. Pretty!
LUCAS. [Looking hard at her.] You are pretty.
AGNES. Oh, as a girl I may have been—[disdainfully]—pretty. What good did it do anybody? [Fingering the dress with aversion.] And when would you have me hang this on my bones?
LUCAS. Oh, when we are dining, or—
AGNES. Dining in a public place?