rather an odd circumstance. Whom do you think I got a bow from as I
passed through the hall of the Danieli last night? [Kirke grunts and
shakes his head.] The Duke of St Olpherts.

KIRKE. [Taking snuff.] Ah! I suppose you're in with a lot of swells
now, Brodrick.

SIR GEORGE. No, no; you don't understand me. The Duke is this young
fellow's uncle by marriage. His Grace married a sister of Lady Cleeve's
--of Cleeve's mother, you know.

KIRKE. Oh! This looks as if the family are trying to put a finger in
the pie.

SIR GEORGE. The Duke may be here by mere chance. Still, as you say, it
does look--[Lowering his voice as KIRKE eyes an opening door.] Who's
that?

KIRKE. The woman.

[AGNES enters. She moves firmly but noiselessly--a placid woman, with
a sweet, low voice. Her dress is plain to the verge of coarseness; her
face, which has little colour, is, at the first glance almost wholly
unattractive.]

AGNES. [Looking from one to the other.] I thought you would send for
me, perhaps. [To SIR GEORGE.] What do you say about him?

KIRKE. One moment. [Pointing to the balcony.] Mrs. Thorpe--