AGNES. Because I—
LUCAS. Because you love me—naturally, that's one great reason.
AGNES. I have always loved you.
LUCAS. But never so utterly, so absorbingly, as you confess you do now.
Do you fully realise what your confession does? It strikes off the
shackles from me, from us—sets us free. [With a gesture of freedom.]
Oh, my dear Agnes, free!
AGNES. [Staring at him.] Free?
LUCAS. Free from the burden of that crazy plan of ours of trumpeting our relations to the world. Forgive me—crazy is the only word for it. Thank heaven, we've at last admitted to each other that we're ordinary man and woman! Of course, I was ill—off my head. I didn't know what I was entering upon. And you, dear—living a pleasureless life, letting your thoughts dwell constantly on old troubles; that is how cranks are made. Now that I'm strong again, body and mind, I can protect you, keep you right. Ha, ha! What were we to pose as? Examples of independent thought and action! [Laughing.] Oh my darling, well be independent in thought and action still; but we won't make examples of ourselves—eh?
AGNES. [Who has been watching him with wide-open eyes.] Do you mean that all idea of our writing together, working together, defending our position, and the position of such as ourselves, before the world, is to be abandoned?
LUCAS. Why, of course.
AGNES. I—I didn't mean quite that.
LUCAS. Oh, come, come! We'll furl what my uncle calls the banner of Free Union finally. [Going to her and kissing her hair lightly.] For the future, mere man and woman. [Pacing the room excitedly.] The future! I've settled everything already. The work shall fall wholly on my shoulders. My poor girl, you shall enjoy a little rest and pleasure.