AGNES. [Looking down upon the dress she is wearing.] Shabbiness!

LUCAS. [With a laugh.] Forgive me, dear; I'm forgetting you are wearing
a comparatively new afternoon-gown.

AGNES. At any rate, I'll make this brighter tomorrow with some
trimmings willingly. [Pointing to the dressmaker's box.] Then you won't
insist on my decking myself out in rags of that kind--eh! There's
something in the idea--I needn't explain.

LUCAS. [Fretfully.] Insist! I'll not urge you again. [Pointing to the
box.] Get rid of it somehow. Are you copying that manuscript of mine?

AGNES. I had just finished it.

LUCAS. Already! [Taking up her copy.] How beautifully you write! [Going
to her eagerly.] What do you think of my Essay?

AGNES. It bristles with truth; it is vital.

LUCAS. My method of treating it?

AGNES. Hardly a word out of place.

LUCAS [Chilled.] Hardly a word?

AGNES. Not a word, in fact.

LUCAS. No, dear, I daresay your "hardly" is nearer the mark.