table writing. GERTRUDE, without hat or mantle, is standing behind the
settee, looking down smilingly upon AGNES.]

KIRKE. [Writing.] H'm--[To AGNES.] Are you often guilty of this sort
of thing?

AGNES. [Laughing.] I've never fainted before in my life; I don't mean
to do so again.

KIRKE. [Writing.] Should you alter your mind about that, do select a
suitable spot on the next occasion. What was it your head came against?

GERTRUDE. A wooden chest, Mr. Cleeve thinks.

AGNES. With beautiful, rusty, iron clamps. [Putting her hand to her
head, and addressing GERTRUDE.] The price of vanity.

KIRKE. Vanity?

AGNES. Lucas was to take me out to dinner. While I was waiting for him
to dress I must needs stand and survey my full length in a mirror.

KIRKE. [Glancing at her.] A very excusable proceeding.

AGNES. Suddenly the room sank and left me--so the feeling was--in the
air.

KIRKE. Well, most women can manage to look in their pier-glasses
without swooning--eh, Mrs Thorpe?