ST. OLPHERTS. Oh—!
AGNES. [With a little shiver.] An impulse.
ST. OLPHERTS. Impulse doesn't account for the possession of those gorgeous trappings.
AGNES. These rags? A surprise gift from Lucas, today.
ST. OLPHERTS. Really, my dear, I believe I've helped to bring about my own defeat. [Laughing softly.] Ho, ho, ho! How disgusted the Cleeve family will be! Ha, ha! [Testily.] Come, why don't you smile—laugh? You can afford to do so! Show your pretty white teeth! Laugh!
AGNES. [Hysterically.] Ha, ha, ha! Ha!
ST. OLPHERTS. That's better! [Pushing the cigarette-box towards him, she takes a cigarette and places it between her lips. He also takes a cigarette gaily. They smoke—she standing, with an elbow resting upon the top of the stove, looking down upon him.]
ST. OLPHERTS. [As he lights his cigarette.] This isn't explosive, I hope? No nitric and sulphuric acid, with glycerine—eh? [Eyeing her wonderingly and admiringly.] By jove! Which is you—the shabby, shapeless rebel who entertained me this afternoon or—[kissing the tips of his fingers to her]—or that?
AGNES. This—this. [Seating herself, slowly and thoughtfully, facing the stove, her back turned to him.] My sex has found me out.
ST. OLPHERTS. Ha! tsch! [Between his teeth.] Damn it, for your sake I almost wish Lucas was a different sort of feller!