AGNES. Yes, I understand.

[He sits looking through the letters impatiently, then tearing them up
and throwing the pieces upon the table.]

LUCAS. Lord Warminster--my godfather: "My dear boy, for God's sake--!"
[Tearing up the letter and reading another.] Sir Charles Littlecote:
"Your brilliant future . . . blasted . . ." [Another letter.] Lord Froom:
"Promise of a useful political career unfulfilled . . . cannot an old
friend . . . ?" [Another letter.] Edith Heytesbury. I didn't notice a
woman had honoured me. [In an undertone.] Edie--![Slipping the letter
into his pocket and opening another.] Jack Brophy: "Your great career--"
Major Leete: "Your career--" [Destroying the rest of the letters
without reading them.] My career! my career! That's the chorus,
evidently. Well, there goes my career! [She lays her work aside and
goes to him.]

AGNES. Your career? [Pointing to the destroyed letters.] True that one
is over. But there's the other, you know--ours.

LUCAS. [Touching her hand.] Yes, yes, Still, it's just a little
saddening, the saying good-bye--[disturbing the scraps of paper]--to
all this.

AGNES. Saddening, dear? Why, this political career of yours--think
what it would have been at best? Accident of birth sent you to the
wrong side of the House; influence of family would always have kept you
there.