AGNES. An egoist, Yes.

ST. OLPHERTS. Possessing ambition without patience, self-esteem without
self-confidence.

AGNES. Well?

ST. OLPHERTS. Afflicted with a desperate craving for the opium-like
drug, adulation; persistently seeking the society of those whose white,
pink-tipped fingers fill the pernicious pipe most deftly and
delicately. Eh?

AGNES. I didn't--Pray, go on.

ST. OLPHERTS. Ha! I remember they looked to his marriage to check his
dangerous fancy for the flutter of lace, the purr of pretty women. And
now, here, he is--loose again.

AGNES. [Suffering.] Oh!--

ST. OLPHERTS. In short, in intellect still nothing but a callow boy; in
body, nervous, bloodless, hysterical; in morals--an epicure.

AGNES. Have done! Have done!

ST. OLPHERTS. "Epicure" offends you. A vain woman would find
consolation in the word.

AGNES. Enough of it! Enough! Enough! [She turns away, beating her hands
together. The light in the room has gradually become subdued; the warm