LUCAS. We strolled about together for half an hour on the Piazza.

AGNES. [Replacing the cord round the box.] You--you don't dislike him
as much as you did?

LUCAS. He's someone to chat to. I suppose one gets accustomed even to a
man one dislikes.

AGNES. [Almost inaudibly.] I suppose so.

LUCAS. As a matter of fact, he has the reputation of being rather a
pleasant companion; though I--I confess--I--I don't find him very
entertaining. [He goes out. She stands staring at the door through
which he has disappeared. There is a knock at the opposite door.]

AGNES. [Rousing herself.] Fortune! [Raising her voice.] Fortune! [The
door opens, and GERTRUDE enters hurriedly.]

GERTRUDE. Fortune is complacently smoking a cigarette in the Campo.

AGNES. Mrs. Thorpe!

GERTRUDE. [Breathlessly.] Mr Cleeve is out, I conclude?

AGNES. No. He is later than usual going out this afternoon.

GERTRUDE. [Irresolutely.] I don't think I'll wait, then.

AGNES. But do tell me: you have been crossing the streets to avoid me
during the past week; what has made you come to see me now?