AGNES. I assure you it is brilliant, Lucas.

LUCAS. What a wretch I am ever to find the smallest fault in you! Shall
we dine out tonight?

AGNES. As you wish, dear.

LUCAS. At the Grunwald? [He goes to the table to pick up his
manuscript; when his back is turned she looks at her watch quickly.]
We'll solemnly toast this, shall we, in Montefiascone?

AGNES. [Eyeing him askance.] You are going out for your chocolate this
afternoon as usual, I suppose?

LUCAS. Yes, but I'll look through your copy first, so that I can slip
it into the post at once. You are not coming out?

AGNES. Not till dinner-time.

LUCAS. [Kissing her on the forehead.] I talked over the points of this
--[tapping the manuscript]--with a man this morning; he praised some
of the phrases warmly.

AGNES. A man? [In an altered tone.] The Duke?

LUCAS. Er--yes.

AGNES. [With assumed indifference, replacing the lid on the
dressmaker's box.] You have seen him again today, then?