LUCAS. Resign yourself? Has life with me become so distasteful?
AGNES. Has it? Think! Why, when I realised the actual terms of our companionship—why didn't I go on my own way stoically? Why don't I go at this very moment?
LUCAS. You really love me, do you mean—as simple, tender women are content to love? [She looks at him, nods slowly, then turns away and droops over the table. He raises her, and takes her in his arms.] My dear girl! My dear, cold, warm-hearted girl! Ha! You couldn't bear to see me packed up in one of the Duke's travelling boxes and borne back to London—eh! [She shakes her head; her lips form the word "No".] No fear of that, my—my sweetheart!
AGNES. [Gently pushing him from her.] Quick—dress—take me out.
LUCAS. You are shivering—get your thickest wrap.
AGNES. That heavy brown cloak of mine?
LUCAS. Yes.
AGNES. It's an old friend, but—dreadfully shabby. You will be ashamed of me again.
LUCAS. Ashamed—!
AGNES. I'll write to Bardini about a new one tomorrow. I won't oppose you—I won't repel you any more.