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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15357.txt b/15357.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1c81496 --- /dev/null +++ b/15357.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4594 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith, by Arthur Wing +Pinero + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith + +Author: Arthur Wing Pinero + +Release Date: March 14, 2005 [eBook #15357] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH*** + + +E-text prepared by Stephen Bishop <sbishop100@btinternet.com> + + + +THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH + +by + +ARTHUR WING PINERO + + + + + + + +THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY + + + AGNES + LUCAS CLEEVE + SYBIL CLEEVE + SIR SANDFORD CLEEVE + DUKE OF ST. OLPHERTS + GERTRUDE THORPE + REV. AMOS WINTERFIELD + SIR GEORGE BRODRICK + DR. KIRKE + FORTUNE + ANTONIO POPPI + NELLA + HEPHZIBAH + + + +The Scene is laid in Venice--first at the Palazzo Arconati, a lodging +house on the Grand Canal; afterwards in an apartment in the Campo +S. Bartolomeo. + +It is Easter-tide, a week passing between the events of the First and +Second Acts. + + + + +THE FIRST ACT + + +The Scene is a room in the Palazzo Arconati, on the Grand Canal, +Venice. The room itself is beautiful in its decayed grandeur, but the +furnishings and hangings are either tawdry and meretricious or avowedly +modern. The three windows at the back open on to a narrow covered +balcony, or loggia, and through them can be seen the west side of the +canal. Between recessed double doors on either side of the room is a +fireplace out of use and a marble mantelpiece, but a tiled stove is +used for a wood fire. Breakfast things are laid on the table. The sun +streams into the room. + +[ANTONIO POPPI and NELLA, two Venetian servants, with a touch +of the picturesque in their attire, are engaged in clearing the +breakfast-table.] + +NELLA. [Turning her head.] Ascolta! (Listen!) + +ANTONIO. Una gondola allo scalo. (A gondala at our steps.)[They open +the centre-window, go out on to the balcony, and look down below.] La +Signora Thorpe. (The Signora Thorpe.) + +NELLO. Con suo fratello. (With her brother.) + +ANTONIO. [Calling.] Buon di, Signor Winterfield! Iddio la benedica! +[Good day, Signor Winterfield! The blessing of God be upon you!] + +NELLA. [Calling.] Buon di, Signora! La Madonna Passista! (Good day, +Signora! May the Virgin have you in her keeping!) + +ANTONIO. [Returning to the room.] Noi siamo in ritardo di tutto questa +mattina. (We are behindhand with everything this morning.) + +NELLA. [Following him.] E vero. (That is true.) + +ANTONIO. [Bustling about.] La stufa! (The stove!) + +NELLA. [Throwing wood into the stove.] Che tua sia benedetta per +rammentarmelo! Questi Inglesi non si contentono del sole. (Bless you +for remembering it. These English are not content with the sun.) + + +[Leaving only a vase of flowers upon the table, they hurry out with the +breakfast things. At the same moment, FORTUNE, a manservant, enters, +showing in MRS. THORPE and the REV. AMOS WINTERFIELD. GERTRUDE THORPE +is a pretty, frank-looking young woman of about seven and twenty. She +is in mourning, and has sorrowful eyes and a complexion that is too +delicate, but natural cheerfulness and brightness are seen through all. +AMOS is about forty--big, burly, gruff; he is untidily dressed, and +has a pipe in his hand. FORTUNE is carrying a pair of freshly-cleaned +tan-coloured boots upon boot-trees.] + + +GERTRUDE. Now, Fortune, you ought to have told us downstairs that Dr. +Kirke is with Mrs. Cleeve. + +AMOS. Come away, Gerty. Mrs. Cleeve can't want to be bored with us just +now. + +FORTUNE. Mrs. Cleeve give 'er ordares she is always to be bored wiz +Madame Thorpe and Mr. Winterfield. + +AMOS. Ha, Ha! + +GERTRUDE. [Smiling.] Fortune! + +FORTUNE. Besides, ze doctares vill go in 'alf a minute, you see. + +GERTRUDE. Doctors! + +AMOS. What, is there another doctor with Dr. Kirke? + +FORTUNE. Ze great physician, Sir Brodrick. + +GERTRUDE. Sir George Brodrick? Amos! + +AMOS. Doesn't Mr. Cleeve feel so well? + +FORTUNE. Oh, yes. But Mrs. Cleeve 'appen to read in a newspapare zat +Sir George Brodrick vas in Florence for ze Paque--ze Eastare. Sir +Brodrick vas Mr. Cleeve's doctor in London, Mrs. Cleeve tell me, so'e +is acquainted wiz Mr. Cleeve's inside. + +AMOS. Ho, ho! + +GERTRUDE. Mr. Cleeve's constitution, Fortune. + +FORTUNE. Excuse, madame. Zerefore Mrs. Cleeve she telegraph for Sir +Brodrick to come to Venise. + +AMOS. To consult with Dr. Kirke, I suppose. + +FORTUNE. [Listening.] 'Ere is ze doctares. + +[DR. KIRKE enters, followed by SIR GEORGE BRODRICK. KIRKE is a shabby, +snuff-taking old gentleman--blunt but kind; SIR GEORGE, on the +contrary, is scrupulously neat in his dress, and has a suave, +professional manner. FORTUNE withdraws] + +KIRKE. Good morning, Mr. Winterfield. [To GERTRUDE.] How do you do, my +dear? You're getting some colour into your pretty face, I'm glad to +see. [To SIR GEORGE.] Mr. Winterfield--Sir George Brodrick. [SIR +GEORGE and AMOS shake hands.] + +KIRKE. [To SIR GEORGE.] Mrs. Thorpe. [SIR GEORGE shakes hands with +GERTRUDE.] Sir George and I started life together in London years ago; +now he finds me here in Venice. Well we can't all win the race--eh? + +SIR GEORGE. My dear old friend! [To GERTRUDE.] Mr Cleeve has been +telling me, Mrs. Thorpe, how exceedingly kind you and your brother have +been to him during his illness. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Mr. Cleeve exaggerates our little services. + +AMOS. I've done nothing. + +GERTRUDE. Nor I. + +DR. KIRKE. Now, my dear! + +GERTRUDE. Dr Kirke, you weren't in Florence with us; you're only a +tale-bearer. + +DR. KIRKE. Well, I've excellent authority for my story of a young woman +who volunteered to share the nursing of an invalid at a time when she +herself stood greatly in need of being nursed. + +GERTRUDE. Nonsense! [To SIR GEORGE.] You know, Amos--my big brother +over there--Amos and I struck up an acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. +Cleeve at Florence, at the Hotel d'Italie, and occasionally one of us +would give Mr Cleeve his dose while Poor Mrs. Cleeve took a little rest +or drive--but positively that's all. + +DR KIRKE. You don't tell us-- + +GERTRUDE. I've nothing more to tell, except that I'm awfully fond of +Mrs. Cleeve-- + +AMOS. Oh, if you once get my sister on the subject of Mrs. Cleeve-- +[Taking up a newspaper.] + +GERTRUDE. [To SIR GEORGE.] Yes, I always say that if I were a man +searching for a wife, I should be inclined to base my ideal on Mrs. +Cleeve. + +SIR GEORGE. [Edging away towards KIRKE, with a surprised uncomfortable +smile.] Eh? Really? + +GERTRUDE. You conceive a different ideal, Sir George? + +SIR GEORGE. Oh--well-- + +GERTRUDE. Well, Sir George? + +AMOS. Perhaps Sir George has heard that Mrs. Cleeve holds regrettable +opinions on some points. If so, he may feel surprised that a parson's +sister-- + +GERTRUDE. Oh, I don't share all Mrs. Cleeve's views, or sympathise with +them, of course. But they succeed only in making me sad and sorry. Mrs. +Cleeve's opinions don't stop me from loving the gentle, sweet woman; +admiring her for her patient, absorbing devotion to her husband; +wondering at the beautiful stillness with which she seems to glide +through life--! + +AMOS. [Putting down the newspaper, to SIR GEORGE and KIRKE.] I told you +so! [To GERTRUDE.] Gertrude, I'm sure Sir George and Dr. Kirke want to +be left together for a few minutes. + +GERTRUDE. [Going up to the window.] I'll sun myself on the balcony. + +AMOS. And I'll go and buy some tobacco. [To GERTRUDE.] Don't be long, +Gerty. [Nodding to SIR GEORGE and KIRKE] Good morning. [They return his +nod; and he goes out.] + +GERTRUDE. [On the balcony.] Dr. Kirke, I've heard what doctors' +consultations consist of. After looking at the pictures, you talk about +whist. [She closes the windows and sits outside.] + +KIRKE. [Producing his snuff-box.] Ha, ha! + +SIR GEORGE. Why this lady and her brother evidently haven't any +suspicion of the actual truth, my dear Kirke! + +KIRKE. [Taking snuff.] Not the slightest. + +SIR GEORGE. The woman made a point of being extremely explicit with +you, you tell me? + +KIRKE. Yes, she was plain enough with me. At our first meeting, she +said: "Doctor, I want you to know so-and-so, and so-and-so, and +so-and-so." + +SIR GEORGE. Really? Well it certainly isn't fair of Cleeve and his-- +his associate to trick decent people like Mrs Thorpe and her brother. +Good gracious, the brother is a clergyman too! + +KIRKE. The rector of some dull hole in the north of England. + +SIR GEORGE. Really! + +KIRKE. A bachelor; this Mrs Thorpe keeps house for him. She's a widow. + +SIR GEORGE. Really? + +KIRKE. Widow of a captain in the army. Poor thing! She's lately lost +her only child and can't get over it. + +SIR GEORGE. Indeed, really, really? . . . but about Cleeve, now--he +had Roman fever of rather a severe type? + +KIRKE. In November. And then that fool of a Bickerstaff at Rome allowed +the woman to move him to Florence too soon, and there he had a relapse. +However, when she brought him on here the man was practically well. + +SIR GEORGE. The difficulty being to convince him of the fact, eh? A +highly-strung, emotional creature? + +KIRKE. You've hit him. + +SIR GEORGE. I've known him from his childhood. Are you still giving him +anything? + +KIRKE. A little quinine, to humour him. + +SIR GEORGE. Exactly. [Looking at his watch.] Where is she? Where is +she? I've promised to take my wife shopping in the Merceria this +morning. By the bye, Kirke--I must talk scandal, I find--this is +rather an odd circumstance. Whom do you think I got a bow from as I +passed through the hall of the Danieli last night? [Kirke grunts and +shakes his head.] The Duke of St Olpherts. + +KIRKE. [Taking snuff.] Ah! I suppose you're in with a lot of swells +now, Brodrick. + +SIR GEORGE. No, no; you don't understand me. The Duke is this young +fellow's uncle by marriage. His Grace married a sister of Lady Cleeve's +--of Cleeve's mother, you know. + +KIRKE. Oh! This looks as if the family are trying to put a finger in +the pie. + +SIR GEORGE. The Duke may be here by mere chance. Still, as you say, it +does look--[Lowering his voice as KIRKE eyes an opening door.] Who's +that? + +KIRKE. The woman. + +[AGNES enters. She moves firmly but noiselessly--a placid woman, with +a sweet, low voice. Her dress is plain to the verge of coarseness; her +face, which has little colour, is, at the first glance almost wholly +unattractive.] + +AGNES. [Looking from one to the other.] I thought you would send for +me, perhaps. [To SIR GEORGE.] What do you say about him? + +KIRKE. One moment. [Pointing to the balcony.] Mrs. Thorpe-- + +AGNES. Excuse me. [She goes to the window and opens it.] + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Mrs Cleeve! [Entering the room.] Am I in the way? + +AGNES. You are never that, my dear. Run along to my room; I'll call you +in a minute or two. [GERTRUDE nods, and goes to the door.] Take off you +hat and sit with me for a while. + +GERTRUDE. I'll stay for a bit, but this hat doesn't take off. [She goes +out] + +AGNES. [To SIR GEORGE and KIRKE.] Yes? + +SIR GEORGE. We are glad to be able to give a most favourable report. I +may say that Mr Cleeve has never appeared to be in better health. + +AGNES. [Drawing a deep breath.] He will be very much cheered by what +you say. + +SIR GEORGE. [Bowing stiffly.] I'm glad-- + +AGNES. His illness left him with a morbid, irrational impression that +he would never be his former self again. + +SIR GEORGE. A nervous man recovering from a scare. I've helped remove +that impression I believe. + +AGNES. Thank you. We have a troublesome, perhaps a hard time before us; +we both need all our health and spirits. [Turning her head, listening.] +Lucas? + +[LUCAS enters the room. He is a handsome, intellectual-looking young +man of about eight-and-twenty.] + +LUCAS. [To AGNES, excitedly.] Have you heard what they say of me? + +AGNES. [Smiling.] Yes. + +LUCAS. How good of you, Sir George, to break up your little holiday for +the sake of an anxious, fidgety fellow. [To Agnes.] Isn't it? + +AGNES. Sir George has rendered us a great service. + +LUCAS. [Going to KIRKE, brightly.] Yes, and proved how ungrateful I've +been to you, doctor. + +KIRKE. Don't apologise. People who don't know when they're well are the +mainstay of my profession. [Offering snuff-box.] Here--[LUCAS takes a +pinch of snuff, laughingly.] + +AGNES. [In a low voice to SIR GEORGE.] He has been terribly hipped at +times. [Taking up the vase of flowers from the table.] Your visit will +have made him another man. [She goes to a table, puts down the vase +upon the tray, and commences to cut and arrange the fresh flowers she +finds there.] + +LUCAS. [Seeing that AGNES is out of hearing.] Excuse me, Kirke--just +for one moment. [To SIR GEORGE.] Sir George--[KIRKE joins AGNES.] You +still go frequently to Great Cumberland Place? + +SIR GEORGE. Your mother's gout has been rather stubborn lately. + +LUCAS. Very likely she and my brother Sandford will get to hear of your +visit to me here; in that case you'll be questioned pretty closely, +naturally. + +SIR GEORGE. My position is certainly a little delicate. + +LUCAS. Oh you may be perfectly open with my people as to my present +mode of life. Only--[He motions SIR GEORGE to be seated; they sit +facing each other.] Only I want you hear me declare again plainly +[looking towards AGNES] that but for the care and devotion of that good +woman over there, but for the solace of that woman's companionship, I +should have been dead months ago--I should have died raving in my +awful bedroom on the ground floor of that foul Roman hotel. Malarial +fever, of course! Doctors don't admit--do they?--that it's possible +for strong men to die of miserable marriages. And yet I was dying in +Rome, I truly believe, from my bitter, crushing disappointment, from +the consciousness of my wretched, irretrievable--[FORTUNE enters, +carrying LUCAS' hat, gloves, overcoat, and silk wrap, and upon a +salver, a bottle of medicine and a glass.] + +LUCAS. [Sharply.] Qu'y a-t-il, Fortune? + +FORTUNE. Sir, you have an appointment. + +LUCAS. [Rising.] At the Danieli at eleven. Is it so late? [FORTUNE +places the things upon the table. LUCAS puts the wrap around his +throat; AGNES goes to him and arranges it for him solicitously.] + +SIR GEORGE. [Rising.] I have to meet Lady Brodrick at the Piazzetta. +Let me take you in my gondola. + +LUCAS. Thanks--delighted. + +AGNES. [To SIR GEORGE.] I would rather Lucas went in the house gondola; +I know its cushions are dry. May he take you to the Piazetta? + +SIR GEORGE. [A little stiffly.] Certainly. + +AGNES. [To FORTUNE.] Mettez les coussins dans la gondole. + +FORTUNE. Bien, madame. + +[FORTUNE goes out. AGNES begins to measure a dose of medicine.] + +SIR GEORGE. [To AGNES.] Er--I--ah-- + +LUCAS. [Putting on his gloves.] Agnes, Sir George-- + +AGNES. [Turning to SIR GEORGE, the bottle and glass in her hands.] Yes? + +SIR GEORGE. [Constrainedly.] We always make a point of acknowledging +the importance of nursing as an aid to medical treatment. I--I am sure +Mr. Cleeve owes you much in that respect. + +AGNES. Thank you. + +SIR GEORGE. [To LUCAS.] I have to discharge my gondola; you'll find me +at the steps, Cleeve. [AGNES shifts the medicine bottle from one hand +to the other so that her right hand may be free, but SIR GEORGE simply +bows in a formal way and moves towards the door.] You are coming with +us, Kirke? + +KIRKE. Yes. + +SIR GEORGE. Do you mind seeing that I'm not robbed by my gondolier? [He +goes out.] + +AGNES. [Giving the medicine to LUCAS, undisturbed.] Here, dear. + +KIRKE. [To AGNES.] May I pop in tonight for my game of chess? + +AGNES. Do, doctor; I shall be very pleased. + +KIRKE. [Shaking her hand in a marked way.] Thank you. [He follows SIR +GEORGE.] + +AGNES. [Looking after him.] Liberal little man. + +[She has LUCAS' overcoat in her hand: a small pen-and-ink drawing of a +woman's hand drops from one of the pockets. They pick it up together.] + +AGNES. Isn't that the sketch you made of me in Florence? + +LUCAS. [Replacing it in the coat-pocket.] Yes. + +AGNES. You are carrying it about with you? + +LUCAS. I slipped it into my pocket, thinking it might interest the +Duke. + +AGNES. [Assisting him with his overcoat.] Surely I am too obnoxious in +the abstract for your uncle to entertain such a detail as a portrait. + +LUCAS. It struck me that it might serve to correct certain preconceived +notions of my people's. + +AGNES. Images of a beautiful temptress with peach-blossomed cheeks and +stained hair? + +LUCAS. That's what I mean; they suspect a decline of taste on my part, +of that sort. Good-bye, dear. + +AGNES. Is this mission of the Duke of St Olpherts the final attempt to +part us, I wonder? [Angrily, her voice hardening.] Why should they +harass and disturb you as they do? + +LUCAS. [Kissing her.] Nothing disturbs me now that I know I and strong +and well. Besides, everybody will soon tire of being shocked. Even +conventional morality must grow breathless in the chase. [He leaves +her. She opens the other door and calls.] + +AGNES. Mrs. Thorpe! I'm alone now. [She goes on to the balcony, through +the centre window, and looks down below. GERTRUDE enters, and joins her +on the balcony.] + +GERTRUDE. How well your husband is looking! + +AGNES. Sir George Brodrick pronounces him quite recovered. + +GERTRUDE. Isn't that splendid! [Waving her hand and calling.] Buon +giorno, Signor Cleeve! Come molto meglio voi state! [Leaving the +balcony, laughing.] Ha, ha! My Italian! [AGNES waves finally to the +gondola below, returns to the room, and slips her arm through +GERTRUDE'S.] + +AGNES. Two whole days since I've seen you. + +GERTRUDE. They've been two of my bad days, dear. + +AGNES. [Looking into her face.] All right now? + +GERTRUDE. Oh, "God's in his heaven" this morning! When the sun's out I +feel that my little boy's bed in Ketherick Cemetery is warm and cosy. + +AGNES. [Patting GERTRUDE'S hand] Ah!-- + +GERTRUDE. The weather's the same all over Europe, according to the +papers. Do you think it's really going to last? To me these chilly, +showery nights are terrible. You know, I still tuck my child up at +night-time; still have my last peep at him before going to my own bed; +and it is awful to listen to these cold rains--drip, drip, upon that +little green coverlet of his! [She goes and stands by the window +silently.] + +AGNES. This isn't strong of you, dear Mrs. Thorpe. You mustn't--you +mustn't. [AGNES brings the tray with the cut flowers to the nearer +table; calmly and methodically she resumes trimming the stalks.] + +GETRUDE. You're quite right. That's over. Now, then, I'm going to +gabble for five minutes gaily. [Settling herself comfortably in an +armchair.] What jolly flowers you've got there! What have you been +doing with yourself? Amos took me to the Caffe Quadri yesterday to late +breakfast, to cheer me up. Oh, I've something to say to you! At the +Caffe, at the next table to ours, there were three English people--two +men and a girl--home from India, I gathered. One of the men was +looking out of the window, quizzing the folks walking in the Piazza, +and suddenly he caught sight of your husband. [AGNES' hands pause in +their work.] "I do believe that's Lucas Cleeve," he said. And then the +girl had a peep, and said "Certainly it is." And the man said: "I must +find out where he's stopping; If Minerva is with him, you must call." +"Who's Minerva?" said the second man. "Minerva is Mrs. Lucas Cleeve," +the girl said, "it's a pet name--he married a chum of mine, a daughter +of Sir John Steyning's a year or so after I went out." Excuse me, dear. +Do these people really know you and your husband, or were they talking +nonsense? + +[AGNES takes the vase of faded flowers, goes onto the balcony, and +empties the contents of the vase into the canal. Then she stands by the +window, her back towards GERTRUDE.] + +AGNES. No, they evidently know Mr. Cleeve. + +GERTRUDE. Your husband never calls you by that pet-name of yours. Why +is it you haven't told me you're a daughter of Admiral Steyning's? + +AGNES. Mrs Thorpe-- + +GERTRUDE. [Warmly.] Oh, I must say what I mean! I have often pulled +myself up short in my gossips with you, conscious of a sort of wall +between us. [AGNES comes slowly from the window.] Somehow, I feel now +that you haven't in the least made a friend of me. I'm hurt. St's +stupid of me; I can't help it. + +AGNES. [After a moment's pause.] I am not the lady these people were +speaking of yesterday. + +GERTRUDE. Not--? + +AGNES. Mr. Cleeve is no longer with his wife; he has left her. + +GERTRUDE. Left--his wife! + +AGNES. Like yourself, I am a widow. I don't know whether you've ever +heard my name--Ebbsmith. [GERTRUDE stares at her blankly.] I beg your +pardon sincerely. I never meant to conceal my true position; such a +course is opposed to every true principle of mind. But I grew so +attached to you in Florence and--well, it was contemptibly weak; I'll +never do such a thing again. [She goes back to the table and commences +to refill the vase with the fresh flowers.] + +GERTRUDE. When you say that Mr. Cleeve has left his wife, I suppose you +mean to tell me that you have taken her place? + +AGNES. Yes, I mean that. + +[GERTRUDE rises and walks to the door.] + +GERTRUDE [At the door.] You knew that I could not speak to you after +hearing this? + +AGNES. I thought it almost certain that you would not. + +[After a moment's irresolution, GERTRUDE returns, and stands by the +settee.] + +GERTRUDE. I can hardly believe you. + +AGNES. I should like you to hear more than just the bare fact. + +GETRUDE. [Drumming on the back of the settee.] Why don't you tell me +more? + +AGNES. You were going, you know. + +GERTRUDE. [Sitting.] I won't go quite like that. Please tell me. + +AGNES. [Calmly.] Well--did you ever read of John Thorold--"Jack +Thorold, the demagogue?" [GERTRUDE shakes her head.] I daresay not. +John Thorold, once a schoolmaster, was my father. In my time he used to +write for the two or three, so-called, inflammatory journals, and hold +forth in small lecture-halls, occasionally even from the top of a +wooden stool in the Park, upon trade and labour questions, division of +wealth, and the rest of it. He believed in nothing that people who go +to church are credited with believing in, Mrs. Thorpe; his scheme for +the readjustment of things was Force; his pet doctrine, the ultimate +healthy healing that follows the surgery of Revolution. But to me he +was the gentlest creature imaginable; and I was very fond of him, in +spite of his--as I then thought--strange ideas. Strange ideas! Ha! +Many of 'em luckily don't sound quite so irrational today! + +GERTRUDE. [Under her breath.] Oh! + +AGNES. My home was a wretched one. If dad was violent out of the house, +mother was violent enough in it; with her it was rage, sulk, storm, +from morning till night; till one day father turned a deaf ear to +mother and died in his bed. That was my first intimate experience of +the horrible curse that falls upon so many. + +GERTRUDE. Curse? + +AGNES. The curse of unhappy marriage. Though really I'd looked on +little else all my life. Most of our married friends were cursed in a +like way; and I remember taking an oath, when I was a mere child, that +nothing should ever push me over into the choked-up, seething pit. +Fool! When I was nineteen I was gazing like a pet sheep into a man's +eyes; and one morning I was married, at St. Andrew's Church in Holborn, +to Mr. Ebbsmith, a barrister. + +GERTRUDE. In church? + +AGNES. Yes, in church--in church. In spite of father's unbelief and +mother's indifference, at the time I married I was as simple--ay, in +my heart, as devout--as any girl in a parsonage. The other thing +hadn't soaked into me. Whenever I could escape from our stifling rooms +at home, and slam the front door behind me, the air blew away +uncertainty and scepticism; I seemed only to have to take a long, deep +breath to be full of hope and faith. And it was like this till that man +married me. + +GERTRUDE. Of course, I guess your marriage was an unfortunate one. + +AGNES. It lasted eight years. For about twelve months he treated me +like a woman in a harem, for the rest of the time like a beast of +burden. Oh! When I think of it! [Wiping her brow with her +handkerchief.] Phew! + +GERTRUDE. It changed you? + +AGNES. Oh, yes, it changed me. + +GERTRUDE. You spoke of yourself just now as a widow. He's dead? + +AGNES. He died on our wedding day--the eighth anniversary. + +GERTRUDE. You were free then--free to begin again. + +AGNES. Eh? [Looking at GERTRUDE.] Yes; but you don't begin to believe +all over again. [She gathers up the stalks of the flowers from the +tray, and, kneeling, crams them into the stove.] However, this is an +old story. I'm thirty-three now. + +GERTRUDE. [Hesitatingly.] You and Mr. Cleeve--? + +AGNES. We've known each other since last November--no longer. Six +years of my life unaccounted for, eh? Well, for a couple of years or so +I was lecturing. + +GERTRUDE. Lecturing? + +AGNES. Ah, I'd become an out-and-out child of my father by that time-- +spouting, perhaps you'd call it, standing on the identical little +platforms he used to speak from, lashing abuses with my tongue as he +had done. Oh, and I was fond, too, of warning women. + +GERTRUDE. Against what? + +AGNES. Falling into the pit. + +GERTRUDE. Marriage? + +AGNES. The chocked-up, seething pit--until I found my bones almost +through my skin and my voice too weak to travel across a room. + +GERTRUDE. From what cause? + +AGNES. Starvation, my dear. So, after lying in a hospital for a month +or two, I took up nursing for a living. Last November I was sent for by +Dr. Bickerstaff to go through to Rome to look after a young man who'd +broken down there, and who declined to send for his friends. My patient +was Mr. Cleeve--[taking up the tray]--and that's where his fortunes +join mine. [She crosses the room, and puts the tray upon the cabinet.] + +GERTRUDE. And yet, judging from what that girl said yesterday, Mr. +Cleeve married quite recently? + +AGNES. Less than three years ago. Men don't suffer as patiently as +women. In many respects his marriage story is my own, reversed--the +man in place of the woman. I endured my hell, though; he broke the +gates of his. + +GERTRUDE. I have often seen Mr. Cleeve's name in the papers. His future +promised to be brilliant, didn't it? + +AGNES. [Tidying the table, folding the newspapers, &c.] There's a great +career for him still. + +GERTRUDE. In Parliament--now? + +AGNES. No, he abandons that, and devotes himself to writing. We shall +write much together, urging our views on this subject of Marriage. We +shall have to be poor, I expect, but we shall be content. + +GERTRUDE. Content! + +AGNES. Quite content. Don't judge us by my one piece of cowardly folly +in keeping the truth from you, Mrs. Thorpe, Indeed, it's our great plan +to live the life we have mapped out for ourselves, fearlessly, openly; +faithful to each other, helpful to each other, so long as we remain +together. + +GERTRUDE. But tell me--you don't know how I--how I have liked you!-- +tell me, if Mr. Cleeve's wife divorces him, he will marry you? + +AGNES. No. + +GERTRUDE. No! + +AGNES. No. I haven't made you quite understand--Lucas and I don't +desire to marry, in your sense. + +GERTRUDE. But you are devoted to each other! + +AGNES. Thoroughly. + +GERTRUDE. What, is that the meaning of "for as long as you are +together?" You would go your different ways if ever you found that one +of you was making the other unhappy? + +AGNES. I do mean that. We remain together only to help, to heal, to +console. Why should men and women be so eager to grant to each other +the power of wasting life? That is what marriage gives--the right to +destroy years and years of life. And the right, once given, it attracts +--attracts! We have both suffered from it. So many rich years out of my +life have been squandered by it. And out of his life, so much force, +energy--spent in battling with the shrew, the termagant he has now +fled from; strength never to be replenished, never to be repaid--all +wasted, wasted! + +GERTRUDE. Your legal marriage with him might not bring further +miseries. + +AGNES. Too late! We have done with marriage; we distrust it. We are not +now among those who regard marriage as indispensable to union. We have +done with it! + +GERTRUDE. [Advancing to her.] You know that it would be impossible for +me, if I would do so, to deceive my brother as to all this. + +AGNES. Why, of course, dear. + +GERTRUDE. [Looking at her watch.] Amos must be wondering-- + +AGNES. Run away, then. [GERTRUDE crosses quickly to the door.] + +GERTRUDE [Retracing a step or two.] Shall I see you--? Oh! + +AGNES. [Shaking her head.] Ah! + +GERTRUDE. [Going to her, constrainedly.] When Amos and I have talked +this over, perhaps--perhaps-- + +AGNES. No, I fear not. Come, my dear friend--[with a smile]--give me +a shake of the hand. + +GERTRUDE. [Taking her hand.] What you've told me is dreadful. [Looking +into AGNES' face.] And yet you're not a wicked woman! [Kissing AGNES.] +In case we don't meet again. [The women separate quickly, looking +towards the door, as LUCAS enters.] + +LUCAS. [Shaking hands with GERTRUDE.] How do you do, Mrs Thorpe? I've +just had a wave of the hand from your brother. + +GERTRUDE. Where is he? + +LUCAS. On his back in a gondola, a pipe in his mouth as usual, gazing +skywards. [Going on to the balcony.] He's within hail. [GERTRUDE goes +quickly to the door, followed by AGNES.] There! By the Palazzo Sforza. +[He re-enters the room; GERTRUDE has disappeared. He is going towards +the door.] Let me get hold of him, Mrs. Thorpe. + +AGNES. [Standing before LUCAS, quietly] She knows, Lucas, dear. + +LUCAS. Does she? + +AGNES. She overheard some gossip at the Caffe Quadri yesterday, and +began questioning me; so I told her. + +LUCAS. [Taking off his coat.] Adieu to them, then--eh? + +AGNES. [Assisting him.] Adieu. + +LUCAS. I intended to write to the brother directly they had left +Venice, to explain. + +AGNES. Your describing me as "Mrs. Cleeve" at the hotel in Florence +helped to lead us into this; after we move from here I must always be, +frankly, "Mrs. Ebbsmith." + +LUCAS. These were decent people. You and she had formed quite an +attachment? + +AGNES. Yes. + +[She places his coat, &c. on a chair, then fetches her work-basket from +the cabinet.] + +LUCAS. There's something of the man in your nature, Agnes. + +AGNES. I've anathematised my womanhood often enough. [She sits at the +table, taking out her work composedly.] + +LUCAS. Not that every man possesses the power you have acquired--the +power of going through life with compressed lips. + +AGNES. [Looking up, smiling.] A propos? + +LUCAS. These people--this woman you've been so fond of. You see them +shrink away with the utmost composure. + +AGNES. [Threading a needle.] You forget, dear, that you and I have +prepared ourselves for a good deal of this sort of thing. + +LUCAS. Certainly, but at the moment-- + +AGNES. One must take care that the regret lasts no longer than a +moment. Have you seen your uncle? + +LUCAS. A glimpse. He hadn't long risen. + +AGNES. He adds sluggishness to other vices, then? + +LUCAS. [Lighting a cigarette.] He greeted me through six inches of open +door. His toilet has its mysteries. + +AGNES. A stormy interview? + +LUCAS. The reverse. He grasped my hand warmly, declared I looked the +picture of health, and said it was evident I had been most admirably +nursed. + +AGNES. [Frowning.] That's a strange utterance. But he's an eccentric, +isn't he? + +LUCAS. No man has ever been quite satisfied as to whether his oddities +are ingrained or affected. + +AGNES. No man. What about women? + +LUCAS. Ho! They have had opportunities of closer observation. + +AGNES. Hah! And they report--? + +LUCAS. Nothing. They become curiously reticent. + +AGNES. [Scornfully, as she is cutting a thread.] These noblemen! + +LUCAS. [Taking a packet of letters from his pocket.] Finally, he +presented me with these, expressed a hope that he'd see much of me +during the week, and dismissed me with a fervent God bless you! + +AGNES. [Surprised.] He remains here, then? + +LUCAS. It seems so. + +AGNES. What are those, dear? + +LUCAS. The Duke has made himself the bearer of some letters, from +friends. I've only glanced at them: reproaches--appeals-- + +AGNES. Yes, I understand. + +[He sits looking through the letters impatiently, then tearing them up +and throwing the pieces upon the table.] + +LUCAS. Lord Warminster--my godfather: "My dear boy, for God's sake--!" +[Tearing up the letter and reading another.] Sir Charles Littlecote: +"Your brilliant future . . . blasted . . ." [Another letter.] Lord Froom: +"Promise of a useful political career unfulfilled . . . cannot an old +friend . . . ?" [Another letter.] Edith Heytesbury. I didn't notice a +woman had honoured me. [In an undertone.] Edie--![Slipping the letter +into his pocket and opening another.] Jack Brophy: "Your great career--" +Major Leete: "Your career--" [Destroying the rest of the letters +without reading them.] My career! my career! That's the chorus, +evidently. Well, there goes my career! [She lays her work aside and +goes to him.] + +AGNES. Your career? [Pointing to the destroyed letters.] True that one +is over. But there's the other, you know--ours. + +LUCAS. [Touching her hand.] Yes, yes, Still, it's just a little +saddening, the saying good-bye--[disturbing the scraps of paper]--to +all this. + +AGNES. Saddening, dear? Why, this political career of yours--think +what it would have been at best? Accident of birth sent you to the +wrong side of the House; influence of family would always have kept you +there. + +LUCAS. [Partly to himself.] But I made my mark. I did make my mark. + +AGNES. Supporting the Party that retards; the Party that preserves for +the rich, palters with the poor. [Pointing to the letters again.] Oh, +there's not much to mourn for there! + +LUCAS. Still, it was--success. + +AGNES. Success! + +LUCAS. I was talked about, written about, as a Coming Man--the Coming +Man! + +AGNES. How many "coming men" has one known? Where on earth do they all +go to? + +LUCAS. Ah, yes, but I allowed for the failure, and carefully set myself +to discover the causes of them. And, as I put my fingers upon the +causes and examined them, I congratulated myself and said "Well, I +haven't that weak point in my armour, or that;" and Agnes, at last I +was fool enough to imagine I had no weak point, none whatever. + +AGNES. It was weak enough to believe that. + +LUCAS. I couldn't foresee that I was doomed to pay the price all +nervous men pay for success; that the greater my success became, the +more cancer-like grew the fear of never being able to continue it, to +excel it; that the triumph of today was always to be the torture of +tomorrow! Oh, Agnes, the agony of success to a nervous, sensitive man; +the dismal apprehension that fills his life and gives each victory a +voice to cry out "Hear, hear! Bravo, bravo, bravo! But this is to be +your last--you'll never overtop it!" Ha, yes! I soon found out the +weak spot in my armour--the need of constant encouragement, constant +reminder of my powers; [taking her hand] the need of that subtle +sympathy which a sacrificing, unselfish woman alone possesses the +secret of. [Rising.] Well, my very weakness might have been a source of +greatness if, three years ago, it had been to such a woman that I had +bound myself--a woman of your disposition; instead of to--! Ah! [She +lays her hand upon his arm soothingly.] + +LUCAS. Yes, yes. [Taking her in his arms.] I know I have such a +companion now. + +AGNES. Yes--now-- + +LUCAS. You must be everything to me, Agnes--a double faculty, as it +were. When my confidence in myself is shaken, you must try to keep the +consciousness of my poor powers alive in me. + +AGNES. I shall not fail you in that, Lucas. + +LUCAS. And yet, whenever disturbing recollections come uppermost; when +I catch myself mourning for those lost opportunities of mine; it is +your love that must grant me oblivion--[kissing her upon the lips]-- +your love! [She makes no response, and after a pause gently releases +herself and retreats a step or two.] + +LUCAS. [His eyes following her.] Agnes, you seem to me to be changing +towards me, growing colder to me. At times you seem positively to +shrink from me. I don't understand it. Yesterday I thought I saw you +look at me as if I--frightened you! + +AGNES. Lucas--Lucas dear, for some weeks, now, I've wanted to say this +to you. + +LUCAS. What? + +AGNES. Don't you think that such a union as ours would be much braver, +much more truly courageous, if it could but be--be-- + +LUCAS. If it could but be--what? + +AGNES. [Averting her eyes.] Devoid of passion, if passion had no share +in it. + +LUCAS. Surely this comes a little late, Agnes, between you and me. + +AGNES. [Leaning upon the back of a chair, staring before her and +speaking in a low, steady voice.] What has been was inevitable, I +suppose. Still, we have hardly yet set foot upon the path we've agreed +to follow. It is not too late for us, in our own lives, to pit the +highest interpretation upon that word--Love. Think of the inner +sustaining power it would give us! [More forcibly.] We agree to go +through the world together, preaching the lesson taught us by our +experiences. We cry out to all people, "Look at us! Man and woman who +are in the bondage of neither law nor ritual! Linked simply by mutual +trust! Man and wife, but something better than man and wife! Friends, +but even something better than friends!" I say there is that which is +noble, finely defiant, in the future we have mapped out for ourselves, +if only--if only-- + +LUCAS. Yes? + +AGNES. [Turning from him.] If only it could be free from passion! + +LUCAS. [In a low voice.] Yes, but--is that possible? + +AGNES. [In the same tone, watching him askance, a frightened look in +her eyes.] Why not? + +LUCAS. Young man and woman . . . you and love . . . ? Scarcely upon +this earth, my dear Agnes, such a life as you have pictured. + +AGNES. I say it can be, it can be--! + +[FORTUNE enters, carrying a letter upon a salver, and a beautiful +bouquet of white flowers. He hands the note to LUCAS.] + +LUCAS. [Taking the note, glancing at AGNES.] Eh! [To FORTUNE, pointing +to the bouquet.] Qu'avez-vous la? + +FORTUNE. Ah, excuse. [Presenting the bouquet to AGNES.] Wiz compliment. +[AGNES takes the bouquet wonderingly.] Tell Madame ze Duke of St +Olphert bring it in person, 'e says. + +LUCAS. [Opening the note.] Est-il parti? + +FORTUNE. 'E did not get out of 'is gondola. + +LUCAS. Bien. [FORTUNE withdraws. Reading the note aloud.] "While +brushing my hair, my dear boy, I became possessed of a strong desire to +meet the lady with whom you are now improving the shining hour. Why the +devil shouldn't I, if I want to. Without prejudice, as my lawyer says, +let me turn up this afternoon and chat pleasantly to her of +Shakespeare, also the musical glasses. Pray hand her this flag of truce +--I mean my poor bunch of flowers--and believe me yours, with a touch +of gout, ST. OLPHERTS." [Indignantly crushing the note.] Ah! + +AGNES. [Frowning at the flowers.] A taste of the oddities, I suppose? + +LUCAS. He is simply making sport of us. [Going on to the balcony, and +looking out.] There he is. Damn that smile of his! + +AGNES. Where? [She joins him.] + +LUCAS. With the two gondoliers. + +AGNES. Why--that's a beautiful face! How strange! + +LUCAS. [Drawing her back into the room.] Come away. He is looking up at +us. + +AGNES. Are you sure he sees us? + +LUCAS. He did. + +AGNES. He will want an answer--[She deliberately flings the bouquet +over the balcony into the canal, then returns to the table and picks up +her work.] + +LUCAS. [Looking out again cautiously.] He throws his head back and +laughs heartily. [Re-entering the room.] Oh, of course, his policy is +to attempt to laugh me out of my resolves. They send him here merely to +laugh at me, Agnes, to laugh at me--[coming to AGNES angrily.] laugh +at me! + +AGNES. He must be a man of small resources. [Threading her needle.] It +is so easy to mock. + + +END OF THE FIRST ACT + + + + +THE SECOND ACT + + +The Scene is the same as that of the previous Act. Through the windows +some mastheads and flapping sails are seen in the distance. The light +is that of late afternoon. + +AGNES, very plainly dressed, is sitting at the table, industriously +copying from a manuscript. After a moment or two, ANTONIO and NELLA +enter the room, carrying a dressmaker's box, which is corded and +labelled. + +NELLA. E permess, Signora (Permit us, Signora.) + +ANTONIO. Uno scatolone per la Signora (Am enormous box for the +Signora.) + +AGNES. [Turning her head.] Eh? + +NELLA. E venuto colla ferrovia--(It has come by the railway--) + +ANTONIO. [consulting the label.] Da'Firenze. (From Florence.) + +AGNES. By railway, from Florence? + +NELLA [Reading from the label.] "Emilia Bardini, Via Rondinelli." + +AGNES. Bardini? That's the dressmaker. There must be some mistake. Non +e per me, Nella. (It isn't for me, Nella.) + +[ANTONIO and NELLA carry the box to her animatedly.] + +NELLA. Ma guardi, Signora! (But look, Signora!) + +ANTONIO. Alla Signora Cleeve! + +NELLA. E poi abbiamo pagato il porto della ferrovia. (Besides, we have +paid the railway dues upon it.) + +AGNES. [Collecting her sheets of paper.] Hush, hush! Don't trouble me +just now. Mettez-la n'importe ou. [They place the box upon another +table.] + +NELLA. La corda intaccherebbe la forbice della Signora. Vuole che +Antonio la tagli. (The cord would blunt the Signora's scissors. Shall +Antonio cut the cord?) + +AGNES. [Pinning her sheets of paper together.] I'll see about it bye +and bye. Laissez-moi! + +NELLA. [Softly to ANTONIO.] Taglia, taglia! (Cut, cut!) [ANTONIO cuts +the cord, whereupon NELLA utters a little scream.] + +AGNES. [Turning, startled.] What is it? + +NELLA. [Pushing ANTONIO away.] Questo stupido non ha caoito la Signora +e ha tagliata la corda. (The stupid fellow misunderstood the Signora, +and has severed the cord.) + +AGNES. [Rising.] It doesn't matter. Be quiet! + +NELLA. [Removing the lid from the box angrily.] Ed ecco la scatola +aperta contro voglia della Signora! (And now here is the box open +against the Signora's wish) [Inquisitively pushing aside the paper +which covers the contents of the box.] O Dio! Si vede tutto quel che vi +e! (O God! And all the contents exposed!) [When the paper is removed, +some beautiful material trimmed with lace, &c., is seen.] + +NELLA. Guardi, guardi, Signora! (Signora, look, look!) [AGNES examines +the contents of the box with a puzzled air.] Oh, che bellezza! (How +beautiful!) + +ANTONIO. [To NELLA.] Il padrone. (The master.) [NELLA curtsies to +LUCAS, then withdraws with ANTONIO.] + +AGNES. Lucas, the dressmaker in the Via Rondinelli at Florence--the +woman who ran up the little gown I have on now-- + +LUCAS. [With a smile] What of her? + +AGNES. This has just come from her. Phuh! What does she mean by sending +that showy thing to me? + +LUCAS. It is my gift to you. + +AGNES. [Producing enough of the contents of the box to reveal a very +handsome dress.] This! + +LUCAS. I knew Bardini had your measurements; I wrote to her, +instructing her to make that. I remember Lady Heytesbury in something +similar last season. + +AGNES. [Examining the dress.] A mere strap for the sleeve, and +sufficiently decolletee, I should imagine. + +LUCAS. My dear Agnes, I can't understand your reason fro trying to make +yourself a plain-looking woman when nature intended you for a pretty +one. + +AGNES. Pretty! + +LUCAS. [Looking hard at her.] You are pretty. + +AGNES. Oh, as a girl I may have been--[disdainfully]--pretty. What +good did it do anybody? [Fingering the dress with aversion.] And when +would you have me hang this on my bones? + +LUCAS. Oh, when we are dining, or-- + +AGNES. Dining in a public place? + +LUCAS. Why not look your best in a public place? + +AGNES. Look my best? You know, I don't think of this sort of garment in +connection with our companionship, Lucas. + +LUCAS. It is not an extraordinary garment for a lady. + +AGNES. Rustle of silk, glare of arms and throat--they belong, to my +mind, to such a very different order of things from that we have set +up. + +LUCAS. Shall I appear before you in ill-made clothes, clumsy boots-- + +AGNES. Why? We are just as we have always been, since we've been +together. I don't tell you that your appearance is beginning to offend. + +LUCAS. Offend! Agnes, you--you pain me. I simply fail to understand +why you should allow our mode of life to condemn you to perpetual +slovenliness. + +AGNES. Slovenliness! + +LUCAS. No, no, shabbiness. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +GERTRUDE. I would come. I've given poor Amos the slip; he believes I am +buying beads for the Ketherick school-children. + +AGNES. [Shaking her head.] Ah, Mrs. Thorpe!-- + +GERTRUDE. Of course, it's perfectly brutal to be underhanded. But we're +leaving for home tomorrow; I couldn't resist it. + +AGNES. [Coldly.] Perhaps I'm very ungracious-- + +GERTRUDE. [Taking AGNES' hand.] The fact is, Mrs. Cleeve--oh, what do +you wish me to call you? + +AGNES. [Withdrawing her hand.] Well--you're off tomorrow. Agnes will +do. + +GETRUDE. Thank you. The fact is, it's been a bad week with me-- +restless, fanciful. And I haven't been able to get you out of my head. + +AGNES. I'm sorry. + +GERTRUDE. Your story, your present life; you, yourself--such a +contradiction to what you profess! Well, it all has a sort of +fascination for me. + +AGNES. My dear, you're simply not sleeping again. [Turning away.] You'd +better go back to the ammonia Kirke prescribed for you. + +GERTRUDE. [Taking a card from her purse, with a little, light laugh.] +You want to physic me, do you, after worrying my poor brain as you've +done? [Going to her.] "The Rectory, Daleham, Ketherick Moor." +Yorkshire, you know. There can be no great harm in your writing to me +sometimes. + +AGNES [Refusing the card.] No; under the circumstances I can't promise +that. + +GERTRUDE. [Wistfully.] Very well. + +AGNES. [Facing her.] Oh, can't you understand that it can only be-- +disturbing to both of us for an impulsive, emotional creature like +yourself to keep up acquaintanceship with a woman who takes life as I +do? We'll drop each other, leave each other alone. [She walks away, and +stands leaning upon the stove, her back towards GERTRUDE.] + +GERTRUDE. [Replacing the card in her purse.] As you please. Picture me, +sometimes, in that big, hollow shell of a rectory at Ketherick, +strolling about my poor dead little chap's empty room. + +AGNES. [Under her breath.] Oh! + +GERTRUDE. [Turning to go.] God bless you. + +AGNES. Gertrude! [With altered manner.] You--you have the trick of +making me lonely also. [Going to GERTRUDE, taking her hands and +fondling them.] I'm tired of talking to the walls! And your blood is +warm to me! Shall I tell you, or not--or not? + +GERTRUDE. Do tell me. + +AGNES. There is a man here, in Venice, who is torturing me--flaying me +alive. + +GERTRUDE. Torturing you? + +AGNES. He came here about a week ago; he is trying to separate us. + +GERTRUDE. You and Mr. Cleeve? + +AGNES. Yes. + +GERTRUDE. You are afraid he will succeed? + +AGNES. Succeed! What nonsense you talk! + +GERTRUDE. What upsets you, then? + +AGNES. After all, it's difficult to explain--the feeling is so +indefinite. It's like--something in the air. This man is influencing +us both oddly. Lucas is as near illness again as possible; I can hear +his nerves vibrating. And I--you know what a fish-like thing I am as a +rule--just look at me now, as I'm speaking to you. + +GERTRUDE. But don't you and Mr. Cleeve--talk to each other? + +AGNES. As children do when the lights are put out--of everything but +what's uppermost in their minds. + +GERTRUDE. You have met the man? + +AGNES. I intend to meet him. + +GERTRUDE. Who is he? + +AGNES. A relation of Lucas's--the Duke of St. Olpherts + +GERTRUDE. He has right on his side, then? + +AGNES. If you choose to think so. + +GERTRUDE. Supposing he does succeed in taking Mr. Cleeve away from you? + +AGNES. [Staring at GERTRUDE.] What, now, do you mean? + +GERTRUDE. Yes. + +[There is a brief pause; then AGNES walks across the room, wiping her +brow with her handkerchief.] + +AGNES. I tell you, that idea's--preposterous. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, I can't understand you. + +AGNES. You'll respect my confidence? + +GERTRUDE. Agnes! + +AGNES. [Sitting.] Well, I fancy this man's presence here has simply +started me thinking of a time--oh, it may never come!--a time when I +may cease to be--necessary to Mr. Cleeve. Do you understand? + +GERTRUDE. I remember what you told me of your being prepared to grant +each other freedom if-- + +AGNES. Yes, yes; and for the past few days this idea has filled me with +a fear of the most humiliating kind. + +GERTRUDE. What fear? + +AGNES. The fear lest, after all my beliefs and protestations, I should +eventually find myself loving Lucas in the helpless, common way of +women-- + +GERTRUDE. [Under her breath.] I see. + +AGNES. The dread that the moment may arrive some day when should it be +required of me, I shan't feel myself able to give him up easily. [Her +head drooping, uttering a low moan.] Oh!-- + +[LUCAS, dressed for going out, enters, carrying AGNES'S copy of his +manuscript, rolled and addressed for the post. AGNES rises.] + +AGNES. [To LUCAS.] Mrs. Thorpe starts for home tomorrow; she has called +to say good-bye. + +LUCAS. [To GERTRUDE.] It is very kind. Is your brother quite well? + +GERTRUDE. [Embarrassed.] Thanks: quite. + +LUCAS. [Smiling.] I believe I have added to his experience of the +obscure corners of Venice during the past week. + +GERTRUDE. I--I don't--Why? + +LUCAS. By so frequently putting him to the inconvenience of avoiding +me. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Mr. Cleeve, we--I--I-- + +LUCAS. Please tell your brother that I asked after him. + +GERTRUDE. I--I can't; he--doesn't know I've--I've-- + +LUCAS. Ah! Really? [With a bow.] Good-bye. [He goes out, AGNES +accompanying him to the door.] + +GERTRUDE. [To herself.] Brute! [To AGNES.] Oh, I suppose Mr. Cleeve has +made me look precisely as I feel. + +AGNES. How? + +GERTRUDE. Like people deserve to feel who do godly, mean things. + +[FORTUNE appears.] + +FORTUNE. [To AGNES, significantly.] Mr. Cleeve 'as jus' gone out. + +AGNES. Vous savez, n'est-ce pas? + +FORTUNE. [Glancing at GERTRUDE.] But Madame is now engage. + +GERTRUDE. [To AGNES.] Oh, I am going. + +AGNES. [To GERTRUDE.] Wait. [Softly to her.] I want you to hear this +little comedy. Fortune shall repeat my instructions. [To FORTUNE.] Les +ordres que je vous ai donnes, repetez-les. + +FORTUNE. [Speaking in an undertone.] On ze left 'and side of ze Campo-- + +AGNES. Non, non--tout haut. + +FORTUNE. [Aloud, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.] On ze left 'and +side of ze Campo-- + +AGNES. Yes. + +FORTUNE. In one of ze doorways between Fiorentini's and ze leetle +lamp-shop--ze--ze--h'm--ze person. + +AGNES. Precisely. Depechez-vous. [FORTUNE bows and retires.] Fortune +flatters himself he is engaged in some horrid intrigue. You guess whom +I am expecting? + +GERTRUDE. The Duke? + +AGNES. [Ringing a bell.] I've written to him asking him to call upon me +this afternoon while Lucas is at Florian's. [Referring to her watch.] +He is to kick his heels about the Campo till I let him know I am alone. + +GERTRUDE. Will he obey you? + +AGNES. A week ago he was curious to see the sort of animal I am. If he +holds off now, I'll hit upon some other plan. I will come to close +quarters with him, if only for five minutes. + +GERTRUDE. Good-bye. [They embrace, then walk together to the door.] You +still refuse my address? + +AGNES. You bat! Didn't you see me make a note of it? + +GERTRUDE. You! + +AGNES. [Her hand on her heart.] Here. + +GERTRUDE. [Gratefully.] Ah! [She goes out.] + +AGNES. [At the open door.] Gertrude! + +GERTRUDE. [Outside.] Yes? + +AGNES. [In a low voice.] Remember, in my thoughts I pace that +lonely little room of yours with you. [As if to stop GERTRUDE from +re-entering.] Hush! No, no. [She closes the door sharply. NELLA +appears.] + +AGNES. [Pointing to the box on the table.] Portez ce carton dans ma +chambre. + +NELLA. [Trying to peep into the box as she carries it.] Signora, se +Ella si mettesse questo magnifico abito! Oh! Quanto sarebbe piu bella! +(Signora, if you were to wear this magnificent dress, oh how much more +beautiful you would be!) + +AGNES. Sssh! Sssh! [NELLA goes out. FORTUNE enters.] Eh, bien? + +[FORTUNE glances over his shoulder. The DUKE OF ST. OLPHERTS enters; +the wreck of a very handsome man, with delicate features, a polished +manner, and a smooth, weary voice. He limps, walking with the aid of a +cane. FORTUNE retires.] + +AGNES. Duke of St. Olpherts? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Bowing.] Mrs. Ebbsmith? + +AGNES. Mr. Cleeve would have opposed this rather out-of-the-way +proceeding of mine. He doesn't know I have asked you to call on me +today. + +ST. OLPHERTS. So I conclude. It gives our meeting a pleasant air of +adventure. + +AGNES. I shall tell him directly he returns. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Gallantly.] And destroy a cherished secret. + +AGNES. You are an invalid. [Motioning him to be seated.] Pray don't +stand. [Sitting.] Your Grace is a man who takes life lightly. It will +relieve you to hear that I wish to keep sentiment out of any business +we have together. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I believe I haven't the reputation of being a sentimental +man. [Seating himself.] You send for me, Mrs. Ebbsmith-- + +AGNES. To tell you I have come to regard the suggestion you were good +enough to make a week ago-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Suggestion? + +AGNES. Shakespeare, the musical glasses, you know-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, yes. Ha! Ha! + +AGNES. I've come to think it a reasonable one. At the moment I +considered it a gross impertinence. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Written requests are so dependent on a sympathetic +reader. + +AGNES. That meeting might have saved you time and trouble. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I grudge neither. + +AGNES. It might perhaps have shown your Grace that your view of life is +too narrow; that your method of dealing with its problems wants +variety; that, in point of fact, your employment upon your present +mission is distinctly inappropriate. Our meeting today may serve the +same purpose. + +ST. OLPHERTS. My view of life? + +AGNES. That all men and women may safely be judged by the standards of +the casino and the dancing-garden. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I have found those standards not altogether +untrustworthy. My method--? + +AGNES. To scoff, to sneer, to ridicule. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Ah! And how much is there, my dear Mrs. Ebbsmith, +belonging to humanity that survives being laughed at? + +AGNES. More than you credit, Duke. For example, I--I think it possible +you may not succeed in grinning away the compact between Mr. Cleeve and +myself? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Compact? + +AGNES. Between serious man and woman. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Serious woman. + +AGNES. Ah! At least you must see that--serious woman. [Rising, facing +him.] You can't fail to realise, even from this slight personal +knowledge of me, that you are not dealing just now with some poor, +feeble ballet-girl. + +ST. OLPHERTS. But how well you put it! [Rising.] And how frank of you +to furnish, as it were, a plan of the fortifications to the--the-- + +AGNES. Why do you stick at "enemy"? + +ST. OLPHERTS. It's not the word. Opponent! For the moment, perhaps, +opponent. I am never an enemy, I hope, where your sex is concerned. + +AGNES. No, I am aware that you are not over-nice in the bestowal of +your patronage--where my sex is concerned. + +ST. OLPHERTS. You regard my appearance in an affair of morals as a +quaint one? + +AGNES. Your Grace is beginning to know me. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Dear lady, you take pride, I hear, in belonging to--The +People. You would delight me amazingly by giving me an inkling of the +popular notion of my career. + +AGNES. [Walking away.] Excuse me. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Following her.] Please! It would be instructive, perhaps +chastening. I entreat. + +AGNES. No. + +ST OLPHERTS. You are letting sentiment intrude itself. [Sitting, in +pain.] I challenge you. + +AGNES. At Eton you were curiously precocious. The head-master, +referring to your aptitude with books, prophesied a brilliant future +for you; your tutor, alarmed by your attachment to a certain cottage at +Ascot which was minus a host, thanked his stars to be rid of you. At +Oxford you closed all books, except, of course, betting-books. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I detected the tendency of the age--scholarship for the +masses. I considered it my turn to be merely intuitively intelligent. + +AGNES. You left Oxford a gambler and a spendthrift. A year or two in +town established you as an amiable, undisguised debauchee. The rest is +modern history. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Complete your sketch. Don't stop at the--rude outline. + +AGNES. Your affairs falling into disorder, you promptly married a +wealthy woman--the poor, rich lady who has for some years honoured you +by being your duchess at a distance. This burlesque of a marriage +helped to reassure your friends, and actually obtained for you an +ornamental appointment for which an over-taxed nation provides a +handsome stipend. But, to sum up, you must always remain an irritating +source of uneasiness to your own order, as, luckily, you will always be +a sharp-edged weapon in the hands of mine. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [With a polite smile.] Yours! Ah, to that small, unruly +section to which I understand you particularly attach yourself. To +the-- + +AGNES. [With changed manner, flashing eyes, harsh voice, and violent +gestures.] The sufferers, the toilers; that great crowd of old and +young--old and young stamped by excessive labour and privation all of +one pattern--whose backs bend under burdens, whose bones ache and grow +awry, whose skins, in youth and in age, are wrinkled and yellow; those +from whom a fair share of the earth's space and of the light of day is +withheld. [Looking down at him fiercely.] The half-starved who are +bidden to stand with their feet in the kennel to watch gay processions +in which you and your kind are borne high. Those who would strip the +robes from a dummy aristocracy and cast the broken dolls into the limbo +of a nation's discarded toys. Those who--mark me!--are already upon +the highway, marching, marching; whose time is coming as surely as +yours is going! + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Clapping his hands gently.] Bravo! Bravo! Really a flash +of the old fire. Admirable! [She walks away to the window with an +impatient exclamation.] Your present affaire du coeur does not wholly +absorb you, then, Mrs. Ebbsmith. Even now the murmurings of love have +not entirely superseded the thunderous denunciations of--h'm--You +once bore a nickname, my dear. + +AGNES. [Turning sharply.] Ho! So you've heard that, have you? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, yes. + +AGNES. Mad--Agnes? [He bows deprecatingly.] We appear to have studied +each other's history pretty closely. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Dear lady, this is not the first time the same roof has +covered us. + +AGNES. No? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Five years ago, on a broiling night in July, I joined a +party of men who made an excursion from a club-house in St James's +Street to the unsavoury district of St. Luke's. + +AGNES. Oh, yes. + +ST. OLPHERTS. A depressin' building; the Iron Hall, Barker +Street--no--Carter Street. + +AGNES. Precisely. + +ST. OLPHERTS. We took our places amongst a handful of frowsy folks who +cracked nuts and blasphemed. On the platform stood a gaunt, white-faced +young lady resolutely engaged in making up by extravagance of gesture +for the deficiencies of an exhausted voice. "There," said one of my +companions, "that is the notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith." Upon which a person +near us, whom I judged from his air of leaden laziness to be a British +working man, blurted out, "Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith! Mad Agnes! That's +the name her sanguinary friends give her--Mad Agnes!" At that moment +the eye of the panting oratress caught mine for an instant, and you and +I first met. + +AGNES. [Passing her hand across her brow, thoughtfully.] +Mad--Agnes . . . [To him, with a grim smile.] We have both been +criticised, in our time, pretty sharply, eh, Duke? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Yes. Let that reflection make you more charitable to a +poor peer. [A knock at the door.] + +AGNES. Entrez! + +[FORTUNE and ANTONIO enter, ANTONIO carrying tea, &c., upon a tray.] + +AGNES. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] You drink tea--fellow sufferer? [He +signifies assent. FORTUNE places the tray on the table, then withdraws +with ANTONIO. AGNES pours out tea.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Producing a little box from his waistcoat pocket.] No +milk, dear lady. And may I be allowed--saccharine? [She hands him his +cup of tea; their eyes meet.] + +AGNES. [Scornfully.] Tell me now--really--why do the Cleeves send a +rip like you to do their serious work? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Laughing heartily.] Ha, ha, ha! Rip! ha, ha! Poor solemn +family! Oh, set a thief to catch a thief, you know. That, I presume, is +their motive. + +AGNES. [Pausing in the act of pouring out, and staring at him.] What do +you mean? + +ST OLPHERTS. [Sipping his tea.] Set a thief to catch a thief. And by +deduction, set one sensualist--who, after all, doesn't take the +trouble to deceive himself--to rescue another who does. + +AGNES. If I understand you, that is an insinuation against Mr. Cleeve. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Insinuation!-- + +AGNES. [Looking at him fixedly.] Make yourself clearer. + +ST. OLPHERTS. You have accused me, Mrs. Ebbsmith, of narrowness of +outlook. In the present instance, dear lady, it is your judgement which +is at fault. + +AGNES. Mine? + +ST. OLPHERTS. It is not I who fall into the error of confounding you +with the designing danseuse of commerce; it is, strangely enough, you +who have failed in your estimate of Mr. Lucas Cleeve. + +AGNES. What is my estimate? + +ST. OLPHERTS. I pay you the compliment of believing that you have +looked upon my nephew as a talented young gentleman whose future was +seriously threatened by domestic disorder; a young man of a certain +courage and independence, with a share of the brain and spirit of those +terrible human pests called reformers; the one gentleman, in fact, most +likely to aid you in advancing your vivacious social and political +tenets. You have such thoughts in your mind? + +AGNES. I can't deny it. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Ah! But what is the real, the actual Lucas Cleeve? + +AGNES. Well--what is the real Lucas Cleeve? + +ST OLPHERTS. Poor dear fellow! I'll tell you. [Going to the table to +deposit his cup there; while she watches him, her hand tightly clasped, +a frightened look in her eyes.] The real Lucas Cleeve. [Coming back to +her.] An egoist. An egoist. + +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 +tinge of sunset now colours the scene outside the window.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [With a shrug of his shoulders.] The real Lucas Cleeve. + +AGNES. No, no! Untrue, untrue! [LUCAS enters. The three remain silent +for a moment.] The Duke of St. Olpherts calls in answer to a letter I +wrote to him yesterday. I wanted to make his acquaintance. [She goes +out.] + +LUCAS. [After a brief pause.] By a lucky accident the tables were +crowded at Florian's; I might have missed the chance of welcoming you. +In God's name, Duke, why must you come here? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Fumbling in his pocket for a note.] In God's name? You +bring the orthodoxy into this queer firm, then, Lucas? [Handing the +note to LUCAS.] A peremptory summons. + +LUCAS. You need not have obeyed it. [ST. OLPHERTS takes a cigarette +from his case and limps away.] I looked about for you just now. I +wanted to see you. + +ST. OLPHERTS. How fortunate-- + +LUCAS. To tell you that this persecution must come to an end. It has +made me desperately wretched for a whole week. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Persecution? + +LUCAS. Temptation. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Dear Lucas, the process of inducing a man to return to +his wife isn't generally described as temptation. + +LUCAS. Ah, I won't hear another word of that proposal. [ST. OLPHERTS +shrugs his shoulders.] I say my people are offering me, through you, a +deliberate temptation to be a traitor. To which of these two women--my +wife or--[pointing to the door]--to her--am I really bound now? It +may be regrettable, scandalous, but the common rules of right and wrong +have ceased to apply here. Finally, Duke--and this is my message--I +intend to keep faith with the woman who sat by my bedside in Rome, the +woman to whom I shouted my miserable story in my delirium, the woman +whose calm, resolute voice healed me, hardened me, renewed in me the +desire to live. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Ah! Oh, these modern nurses, in their greys, or browns, +and snowy bibs! They have much to answer for, dear Lucas. + +LUCAS. No, no! Why will you persist, all of you, in regarding this as a +mere morbid infatuation, bred in the fumes of pastilles? It isn't so! +Laugh, if you care to; but this is a meeting of affinities, of the +solitary man and the truly sympathetic woman. + +ST. OLPHERTS. And oh--oh these sympathetic women! + +LUCAS. No! Oh, the unsympathetic women! There you have the cause of +half the world's misery. The unsympathetic women--you should have +loved one of them. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I dare say I've done that in my time. + +LUCAS. Love one of these women--I know!--worship here, yield yourself +to the intoxicating day-dreams that make the grimy world sweeter than +any heaven ever imagined. How you heart leaps with gratitude for your +good fortune! How compassionately you regard your unblest fellow men! +What may you not accomplish with such a mate beside you; how high will +be your aims, how paltry every obstacle that bars your way to them; how +sweet is to be the labour, how divine the rest! Then--you marry her. +Marry her, and in six months, if you've pluck enough to do it, lag +behind your shooting party and blow your brains out, by accident, at +the edge of a turnip-field. You have found out by that time all that +there is to look for--the daily diminishing interest in your doings, +the poorly assumed attention as you attempt to talk over some plan for +the future; then the yawn, and by degrees, the covert sneer, the little +sarcasm, and finally, the frank, open stare of boredom. Ah, Duke, when +you all carry out your repressive legislation against women of evil +lives, don't fail to include in your schedule the Unsympathetic Wives. +They are the women whose victims show the sorriest scars; they are the +really "bad women" of the world: all the others are snow-white in +comparison! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Yes, you've got a good deal of this in that capital Essay +you quoted from this morning. Dear fellow, I admit your home +discomforts; but to jump out of the frying pan into this confounded-- +what does she call it?--compact! + +LUCAS. Compact? + +ST. OLPHERTS. A vague reference, as I understand, to your joint crusade +against the blessed institution of Marriage. + +LUCAS. [An alteration in his manner.] Oh--ho, that idea! What--what +has she been saying to you? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Incidentally she pitched into me, dear Lucas; she +attacked my moral character. You must have been telling tales. + +LUCAS. Oh, I--I hope not. Of course, we-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Yes, yes--a little family gossip, to pass the time while +she has been dressing her hair or--By the bye, she doesn't appear to +spend much time in dressing her hair. + +LUCAS. [Biting his lip.] Really? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Then she denounced the gilded aristocracy generally. Our +day is over; we're broken wooden dolls, and are going to be chucked. +The old tune; but I enjoyed the novelty of being so near the +instrument. I assure you, dear fellow, I was within three feet of her +when she deliberately Trafalgar Squared me. + +LUCAS. [With an uneasy laugh.] You're the red rag, Duke. This spirit of +revolt in her--it's ludicrously extravagant; but it will die out in +time, when she has become used to being happy and cared for--[partly +to himself, with clenched hands]--yes, cared for. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Die out? Bred in the bone, dear Lucas. + +LUCAS. On some topics she's a mere echo of her father, if you mean +that? + +ST. OLPHERTS. The father--one of those public park vermin, eh? + +LUCAS. Dead years ago. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I once heard her bellowing in a dirty little shed in St. +Luke's. I told you? + +LUCAS. Yes, you've told me. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I sat there again, it seemed, this afternoon. The orator +not quite so lean, perhaps--a little less witch-like; but-- + +LUCAS. She was actually in want of food in those days! Poor girl! +[Partly to himself.] I mean to remind myself of that constantly. Poor +girl! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Girl! Let me see--you're considerably her junior? + +LUCAS. No, no; a few months, perhaps. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, come! + +LUCAS. Well, years--two or three. + +ST. OLPHERTS. The voice remains rather raucous. + +LUCAS. By God, the voice is sweet! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Well--considering the wear and tear. Really, my dear +fellow, I do believe this--I do believe that if you gowned her +respectably-- + +LUCAS. [Impulsively.] Yes, yes, I say so. I tell her that. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [With a smile.] Do you? That's odd, now. + +LUCAS. What a topic. Poor Agnes's dress! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Your taste used to be rather aesthetic. Even your own +wife is one of the smartest women in London. + +LUCAS. Ha, well I must contrive to smother these aesthetic tastes of +mine. + +ST. OLPHERTS. It's a pity that other people will retain their sense of +the incongruous. + +LUCAS. [Snapping his fingers.] Other people!-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. The public. + +LUCAS. The public? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Come, you know well enough that unostentatious +immodesty is no part of your partner's programme. Of course, you +will find yourself by-and-bye in a sort of perpetual parade with +your crack-brained visionary-- + +LUCAS. You shall not speak of her so! You shall not. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Unconcernedly.] Each of you bearing a pole of the soiled +banner of Free Union. Free Union for the People! Ho, my dear Lucas! + +LUCAS. Good heavens, Duke, do you imagine, now that I am in sound +health and mind again, that I don't see the hideous absurdity of these +views of hers? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Then why the deuce don't you listen a little more +patiently to my views? + +LUCAS. No, no. I tell you I intend to keep faith with her, as far as I +am able. She's so earnest, so pitiably earnest. If I broke faith with +her entirely, it would be too damnably cowardly. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Cowardly! + +LUCAS. [Pacing the room agitatedly.] Besides, we shall do well +together, after all, I believe--she and I. In the end we shall make +concessions to each other and settle down, somewhere abroad, +peacefully. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Ha! And they called you a Coming Man at one time, didn't +they? + +LUCAS. Oh, I--I shall make as fine a career with my pen as that other +career would have been. At any rate, I ask you to leave me to it all-- +to leave me! + +[FORTUNE enters. The shades of evening have now deepened; the glow of +sunset comes into the room.] + +FORTUNE. I beg your pardon, sir. + +LUCAS. Well? + +FORTUNE. It is pas' ze time for you to dress for dinner. + +LUCAS. I'll come. [FORTUNE goes out.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. When do we next meet, dear fellow? + +LUCAS. No, no--please not again. + +[Nella enters, excitedly.] + +NELLA [ Speaking over her shoulder.] Si, Signora; ecco il Signore. +(Yes, Signora; her is the Signor.) [To Cleeve.] Scusi, Signore. Quando +la vendra come e cara--! (Pardon, Signor, when you see her you'll see +how sweet she looks--!) [Agnes's voice is heard.] + +AGNES. [Outside.] Am I keeping you waiting, Lucas? + +[She enters, handsomely gowned, her throat and arms bare, the fashion +of her hair roughly altered. She stops abruptly upon seeing ST. +OLPHERTS; a strange light comes into her eyes; her voice, manner, +bearing, all express triumph. The two men stare at her blankly. She +appears to be a beautiful woman.] + +AGNES. [To Nella.] Un petit chale noir tricote--cher-chez-le. [Nella +withdraws.] Ah, you're not dressed, Lucas dear. + +LUCAS. What--what time is it? [He goes towards the door, still staring +at AGNES.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Looking at her, and speaking in an altered tone.] I fear +my gossiping has delayed him. You--you dine out? + +AGNES. At the Grunwald. Why don't you join us? [Turning to Lucas, +lightly.] Persuade him, Lucas. [LUCAS pauses at the door.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. Er--impossible. Some--friends of mine may arrive +tonight. [Lucas goes out.] I am more than sorry. + +AGNES. [Mockingly.] Really? You are sure you are not shy of being seen +with a notorious woman? + +ST. OLPHERTS. My dear Mrs. Ebbsmith--! + +AGNES. No, I forget--that would be unlike you. Mad people scare you, +perhaps? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Ha, ha! Don't be too rough. + +AGNES. Come, Duke, confess--isn't there more sanity in me than you +suspected? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [In a low voice, eyeing her.] Much more. I think you are +very clever. + +[LUCAS quietly re-enters the room; he halts upon seeing that ST. +OLPHERTS still lingers.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [With a wave of the hand to LUCAS.] Just off, dear +fellow. [He offers his hand to AGNES; she quickly places hers behind +her back.] You--you are charming. [He walks to the door, then looks +round at the pair.] Au'voir! [ST. OLPHERTS goes out.] + +AGNES. Au'voir! [Her hand drooping suddenly, her voice hard and dull.] +You had better take me to Fulici's before we dine, and buy me some +gloves. + +LUCAS. [Coming to her, and seizing her hand.] Agnes dear! + +AGNES. [Releasing herself and sitting with a heavy, almost sullen, look +upon her face.] Are you satisfied? + +LUCAS. [By her side.] You have delighted me! How sweet you look-- + +AGNES. Ah--! + +LUCAS. You shall have twenty new gowns now; you shall see the women +envying you, the men envying me. Ah, ha! Fifty new gowns! You will wear +them? + +AGNES. Yes. + +LUCAS. Why, what has brought about this change in you? + +AGNES. What! + +LUCAS. What? + +AGNES. I know. + +LUCAS. You know? + +AGNES. Exactly how you regard me. + +LUCAS. I don't understand you. + +AGNES. Listen. Long ago, in Florence, I began to suspect that we had +made a mistake, Lucas. Even there I began to suspect that your nature +was not one to allow you to go through life sternly, severely, looking +upon me more and more each day as a fellow worker and less and less as +--a woman. I suspected this--oh, proved it!--but still made myself +believe that this companionship of ours would gradually become, in a +sense, colder--more temperate, more impassive. [Beating her brow.] +Never! never! Oh, a few minutes ago this man, who means to part us if +he can, drew your character, disposition, in a dozen words. + +LUCAS. You believe him! You credit what he says of me! + +AGNES. I declared it to be untrue. Oh, but-- + +LUCAS. But--but-- + +AGNES. [Rising, seizing his arm.] The picture he paints of you is not +wholly a false one. Sssh! Lucas. Hark! Attend to me! I resign myself to +it all! Dear, I must resign myself to it! + +LUCAS. Resign yourself? Has life with me become so distasteful? + +AGNES. Has it? Think! Why, when I realised the actual terms of our +companionship--why didn't I go on my own way stoically? Why don't I go +at this very moment? + +LUCAS. You really love me, do you mean--as simple, tender women are +content to love? [She looks at him, nods slowly, then turns away and +droops over the table. He raises her, and takes her in his arms.] My +dear girl! My dear, cold, warm-hearted girl! Ha! You couldn't bear to +see me packed up in one of the Duke's travelling boxes and borne back +to London--eh! [She shakes her head; her lips form the word "No".] No +fear of that, my--my sweetheart! + +AGNES. [Gently pushing him from her.] Quick--dress--take me out. + +LUCAS. You are shivering--get your thickest wrap. + +AGNES. That heavy brown cloak of mine? + +LUCAS. Yes. + +AGNES. It's an old friend, but--dreadfully shabby. You will be ashamed +of me again. + +LUCAS. Ashamed--! + +AGNES. I'll write to Bardini about a new one tomorrow. I won't oppose +you--I won't repel you any more. + +LUCAS. Repel me! I only urged you to reveal yourself as what you are-- +a beautiful woman. + +AGNES. Ah! Am I--that? + +LUCAS. [Kissing her.] Beautiful--beautiful! + +AGNES. [With a gesture of abandonment.] I'm--glad. [She leaves him and +goes out. He looks after her for a moment thoughtfully, then suddenly +passes his hands across his brow and opens his arms widely as if +casting a burden from him.] + +LUCAS. Oh!--oh! [Turning away alertly.] Fortune-- + + +END OF THE SECOND ACT + + + + +THE THIRD ACT + + +[The Scene is the same as before, but it is evening, and the lamps are +lighted within the room, while outside it is bright moonlight.] + +[AGNES, dressed as at the end of the preceding Act, is lying upon the +settee propped up by pillows. A pretty silk shawl, with which she plays +restlessly, is over her shoulders. Her face is pale, but her eyes +glitter, and her voice has a bright ring in it. KIRKE is seated at a +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? + +GERTRUDE. [Smiling.] How should I know doctor? + +KIRKE. [Blotting his writing.] There. How goes the time? + +GERTRUDE. Half past eight. + +KIRKE. I'll leave this prescription at Mantovani's myself. I can get it +made up to-night. + +AGNES. [Taking the prescription out of his hand playfully.] Let me +look. + +KIRKE. [Protesting.] Now, now! + +AGNES. [Reading the prescription.] Ha, ha! After all, what humbugs +doctors are! + +KIRKE. You've never heard me deny it. + +AGNES. [Returning the prescription to him.] But I'll swallow it--for +the dignity of my old profession. [She reaches out her hand to take a +cigarette.] + +KIRKE. Don't smoke too many of those things. + +AGNES. They never harm me. It's a survival of the time in my life when +the cupboard was always empty. [Striking a match.] Only it had to be +stronger tobacco in those days, I can tell you. [She lights her +cigarette. GERTRUDE is assisting KIRKE with his overcoat. LUCAS enters, +in evening dress, looking younger, almost boyish.] + +LUCAS. [Brightly.] Well? + +KIRKE. She's to have a cup of good bouillon--Mrs. Thorpe is going to +look after that--and anything else she fancies. She's alright. +[Shaking hands with AGNES.] The excitement of putting on that pretty +frock--[AGNES gives a hard little laugh. Shaking hands with LUCAS.] +I'll look in tomorrow. [Turning to GERTRUDE.] Oh, just a word with you, +nurse. [LUCAS has been bending over AGNES affectionately; he now sits +by her, and they talk in undertones; he lights a cigarette from hers.] + +KIRKE. [To GERTRUDE.] There's many a true word, et cetera. + +GERTRUDE. Excitement? + +KIRKE. Yes, and that smart gown's connected with it too. + +GERTRUDE. It is extraordinary to see her like this. + +KIRKE. Not the same woman. + +GERTRUDE. No, nor is he quite the same man. + +KIRKE. How long can you remain with her? + +GERTRUDE. Till eleven--if you will let my brother know where I am. + +KIRKE. What, doesn't he know? + +GERTRUDE. I simply sent word, about an hour ago, that I shouldn't be +back to dinner. + +KIRKE. Very well. + +GERTRUDE. Look here! I'll get you to tell him the truth. + +KIRKE. The truth--oh? + +GERTRUDE. I called here this afternoon, unknown to Amos, to bid her +good-bye. Then I pottered about, rather miserably, spending money. +Coming out of Naya's, the photographer's, I tumbled over Mr. Cleeve, +who had been looking for you, and he begged me to come round here again +after I had done my shopping. + +KIRKE. I understand. + +GERTRUDE. Doctor, have you ever seen Amos look dreadfully stern and +knit about the brows--like a bishop who is put out? + +KIRKE. No. + +GERTRUDE. Then you will. + +KIRKE. Well, this is a pretty task--! [He goes out. GERTRUDE comes to +AGNES. LUCAS rises.] + +GERTRUDE. I am going down into the kitchen to see what these people can +do in the way of strong soup. + +LUCAS. You are exceedingly good to us, Mrs. Thorpe. I can't tell you +how ashamed I am of my bearishness this afternoon. + +GERTRUDE. [Arranging the shawl about AGNES'S shoulders.] Hush, please! + +AGNES. Are you looking at my shawl? Lucas brought it in with him, as a +reward for my coming out of that stupid faint. I--I have always +refused to be--spoilt in this way, but now--now-- + +LUCAS. [Breaking in deliberately.] Pretty work upon it, is there not, +Mrs. Thorpe? + +GERTRUDE. Charming. [Going to the door, which LUCAS opens for her.] +Thank you.[She passes out. AGNES rises.] + +LUCAS. Oh, my dear girl--! + +AGNES. [Throwing her cigarette under the stove.] I'm quite myself +again, Lucas dear. Watch me--look! [Walking firmly.] + +LUCAS. No trembling? + +AGNES. Not a flutter. [Watching her open hand.] My hand is absolutely +steady. [He takes her hand and kisses it upon the palm.] Ah!-- + +LUCAS. [Looking at her hand.] No, it is shaking. + +AGNES. Yes, when you--when you--oh, Lucas!--[She sinks into a chair, +turning her back upon him, and covering her face with her hands; her +shoulders heaving.] + +LUCAS. [Going to her.] Agnes dear! + +AGNES. [Taking out her handkerchief.] Let me--let me-- + +LUCAS. [Bending over her.] I've never seen you-- + +AGNES. No, I've never been a crying woman. But some great change has +befallen me, I believe. What is it? That swoon--it wasn't mere +faintness, giddiness; it was this change coming over me! + +LUCAS. You are not unhappy? + +AGNES. [Wiping her eyes.] No, I--I don't think I am. Isn't that +strange? + +LUCAS. My dearest, I'm happy to hear you say that, for you've made me +very happy. + +AGNES. Because I-- + +LUCAS. Because you love me--naturally, that's one great reason. + +AGNES. I have always loved you. + +LUCAS. But never so utterly, so absorbingly, as you confess you do now. +Do you fully realise what your confession does? It strikes off the +shackles from me, from us--sets us free. [With a gesture of freedom.] +Oh, my dear Agnes, free! + +AGNES. [Staring at him.] Free? + +LUCAS. Free from the burden of that crazy plan of ours of trumpeting +our relations to the world. Forgive me--crazy is the only word for it. +Thank heaven, we've at last admitted to each other that we're ordinary +man and woman! Of course, I was ill--off my head. I didn't know what I +was entering upon. And you, dear--living a pleasureless life, letting +your thoughts dwell constantly on old troubles; that is how cranks are +made. Now that I'm strong again, body and mind, I can protect you, keep +you right. Ha, ha! What were we to pose as? Examples of independent +thought and action! [Laughing.] Oh my darling, well be independent in +thought and action still; but we won't make examples of ourselves--eh? + +AGNES. [Who has been watching him with wide-open eyes.] Do you mean +that all idea of our writing together, working together, defending our +position, and the position of such as ourselves, before the world, is +to be abandoned? + +LUCAS. Why, of course. + +AGNES. I--I didn't mean quite that. + +LUCAS. Oh, come, come! We'll furl what my uncle calls the banner of +Free Union finally. [Going to her and kissing her hair lightly.] For +the future, mere man and woman. [Pacing the room excitedly.] The +future! I've settled everything already. The work shall fall wholly on +my shoulders. My poor girl, you shall enjoy a little rest and pleasure. + +AGNES. [In a low voice.] Rest and pleasure-- + +LUCAS. We'll remain abroad. One can live unobserved abroad, without +actually hiding. [She rises slowly.] We'll find an ideal retreat. No +more English tourists prying around us! And there, in some beautiful +spot, alone except for your company, I'll work! [As he paces the room, +she walks slowly to and fro, listening, staring before her.] I'll work. +My new career! I'll write under a nom de plume. My books, Agnes, shall +never ride to popularity on the back of a scandal. Our life! The +mornings I must spend by myself, of course, shut up in my room. In the +afternoon we will walk together. After dinner you shall hear what I've +written in the morning; and then a few turns round our pretty garden, a +glance at the stars with my arms round your waist--[she stops +abruptly, a look of horror on her face]--while you whisper to me words +of tenderness, words of--[There is the distant sound of music from +mandolin and guitar.] Ah! [To AGNES.] Keep your shawl over your +shoulders. [Opening the window, and stepping out; the music becoming +louder.] Some mandolinisti in a gondola. [Listening at the window, his +head turned from her.] How pretty, Agnes! Now, don't those mere sounds, +in such surroundings, give you a sensation of hatred for revolt and +turmoil! Don't they conjure up alluringly pictures of peace and +pleasure, of golden days and star-lit nights--pictures of beauty and +love? + +AGNES. [Sitting on the settee, staring before her, speaking to +herself.] My marriage--the early days of my marriage--all over again! + +LUCAS. [Turning to her.] Eh? [Closing the window and coming to her, as +the music dies away.] Tell me that those sounds thrill you. + +AGNES. Lucas-- + +LUCAS. [Sitting beside her.] Yes? + +AGNES. For the first few months of my marriage--[Breaking off abruptly +and looking into his face wonderingly.] Why, how young you seem to have +become; you look quite boyish! + +LUCAS. [Laughing.] I believe that this return of our senses will make +us both young again. + +AGNES. Both? [With a little shudder.] You know, I'm older than you. + +LUCAS. Tsch! + +AGNES. [Passing her hand through his hair.] Yes, I shall feel that now. +[Stroking his brow tenderly.] Well--so it has come to this. + +LUCAS. I declare that you have colour in your cheeks already. + +AGNES. The return of my senses? + +LUCAS. My dear Agnes, we've both been to the verge of madness, you and +I--driven there by our troubles. [Taking her hand.] Let us agree, in +so many words, that we have completely recovered. Shall we? + +AGNES. Perhaps mine is a more obstinate case. My enemies called me mad +years ago. + +LUCAS. [With a wave of the hand.] Ah, but the future, the future. No +more thoughts of reforming unequal laws from public platforms, no more +shrieking in obscure magazines. No more beating of bare knuckles +against stone walls. Come, say it! + +AGNES. [With an effort.] Go on. + +LUCAS. [Looking before him--partly to himself, his voice hardening.] +I'll never be mad again--never. [Thrusting his head back.] By heavens! +[To her, in an altered tone.] You don't say it. + +AGNES. [After a pause.] I--I will never be mad again. + +LUCAS. [Triumphantly.] Hah! ha, ha! [She deliberately removes the shawl +from her shoulders, and, putting her arms round his neck, draws him to +her.] Ah, my dear girl! + +AGNES. [In a whisper, with her head on his breast.] Lucas. + +LUCAS. Yes? + +AGNES. Isn't this madness? + +LUCAS. I don't think so. + +AGNES. Oh! oh! oh! I believe, to be a woman is to be mad. + +LUCAS. No, to be a woman trying not to be a woman--that is to be mad. +[She draws a long, deep breath, then, sitting away from him, resumes +her shawl mechanically.] + +AGNES. Now, you promised me to run out to the Capello Nero to get a +little food. + +LUCAS. Oh, I'd rather-- + +AGNES. [Rising.] Dearest, you need it. + +LUCAS. [Rising.] Well--Fortune shall fetch my hat and coat. + +AGNES. Fortune! Are you going to take all my work from me? [She is +walking towards the door; the sound of his voice stops her.] + +LUCAS. Agnes! [She returns.] A thousand thoughts have rushed through my +brain this last hour or two. I've been thinking--my wife-- + +AGNES. Yes? + +LUCAS. My wife--she will soon get tired of her present position. If, +by-and-bye, there should be a divorce, there would be nothing to +prevent our marrying. + +AGNES. Our--marrying! + +LUCAS. [Sitting, not looking at her, as if discussing the matter with +himself.] It might be to my advantage to settle again in London some +day. After all, scandals quickly lose their keen edge. What would you +say? + +AGNES. Marriage-- + +LUCAS. Ah, remember, we're rational beings for the future. However, we +needn't talk about it now. + +AGNES. No. + +LUCAS. Still, I assume you wouldn't oppose it. You would marry me if I +wished it? + +AGNES. [in a low voice.] Yes. + +LUCAS. That's a sensible girl! By Jove, I am hungry! [He lights a +cigarette as she walks slowly to the door, then throws himself idly +back on the settee.] + +AGNES. [To herself, in a whisper.] My old life--my old life coming all +over again! [She goes out. He lies watching the wreaths of tobacco +smoke. After a moment or two FORTUNE enters, closing the door carefully +behind him.] + +LUCAS. Eh? + +FORTUNE. [After a glance round, dropping his voice.] Ze Duke of St. +Olphert 'e say 'e vould like to speak a meenit alone. [LUCAS rises, +with a muttered exclamation of annoyance.] + +LUCAS. Priez Monsieur le Duc d'entrer. +[FORTUNE goes to the door and opens it. The DUKE OF ST. OLPHERTS +enters; he is in evening dress. FORTUNE retires.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. Quite alone? + +LUCAS. For the moment. + +ST. OLPHERTS. My excuse to Mrs. Ebbsmith for not dining at the Grunwald +--it was a perfectly legitimate one, dear Lucas. I really was expecting +visitors. + +LUCAS. [Wonderingly.] Yes? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [With a little cough and a drawn face.] Oh, I am not so +well tonight. Damn these people for troubling me! Damn 'em for keeping +me hopping about! Damn 'em for every shoot I feel in my leg. Visitors +from England--they've arrived. + +LUCAS. But what--? + +ST. OLPHERTS. I shall die of gout some day, Lucas. Er--your wife is +here. + +LUCAS. Sybil! + +ST. OLPHERTS. She's come through with your brother. Sandford's a worse +prig than ever--and I'm in shockin' pain. + +LUCAS. This--this is your doing? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Yes. Damn you, don't keep me standing! + +[AGNES enters with LUCAS'S hat and coat. She stops abruptly on seeing +ST. OLPHERTS.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [By the settee--playfully, through his pain] Ah, my dear +Mrs. Ebbsmith, how can you have the heart to deceive an invalid, a poor +wretch who begs you--[sitting on the settee] to allow him to sit down +for a moment? [AGNES deposits the hat and coat.] + +AGNES. Deceive--? + +ST. OLPHERTS. My friends arrive, I dine scrappily with them, and hurry +to the Grunwald thinking to catch you over your Zabajone. Dear lady, +you haven't been near the Grunwald. + +AGNES. Your women faint sometimes, don't they? + +ST. OLPHERTS. My--? [In pain.] Oh, what do you mean? + +AGNES. The women in your class of life? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Faint? Oh yes, when there's occasion for it. + +AGNES. I'm hopelessly low-born; I fainted involuntarily. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Moving closer to her.] Oh, my dear, pray forgive me. +You've recovered? [She nods.] Indisposition agrees with you, evidently. +Your colouring tonight is charming. [Coughing.] You are--delightful-- +to--look at. + +[GERTRUDE enters, carrying a tray on which are a bowl of soup, a small +decanter of wine, and accessories. She looks at ST. OLPHERTS +unconcernedly, then turns away and places the tray on a table.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Quietly to AGNES.] Not a servant? + +AGNES, Oh, no. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Rising promptly.] Good God! I beg your pardon. A friend? + +AGNES. Yes. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Looking at GERTRUDE, critically.] Very nice. [Still +looking at GERTRUDE, but speaking to AGNES in undertones.] Married +or--? [Turning to AGNES.] Married or--? + +GERTRUDE. [To LUCAS, looking around.] It is draughty at this table. + +LUCAS. [Going to the table near the settee, and collecting the writing +materials.] Here--[AGNES joins GERTRUDE.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Quietly to LUCAS.] Lucas--[LUCAS goes to him.] Who's +that gal? + +LUCAS. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] An hotel acquaintance we made in Florence-- +Mrs Thorpe. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Where's the husband? + +LUCAS. A widow. + +ST. OLPHERTS. You might--[GERTRUDE advances with the tray.] + +LUCAS. Mrs. Thorpe, the Duke of St. Olpherts wishes to be introduced to +you. [GERTRUDE inclines her head to the DUKE. LUCAS places the writing +materials on another table.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Limping up to GERTRUDE and handling the tray.] I beg to +be allowed to help you. [At the table.] The tray here? + +GERTRUDE. Thank you. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, how clumsy I am! We think it so gracious of you to +look after our poor friend here who is not quite herself today. [To +AGNES.] Come along, dear lady--everything is prepared for you. [To +GERTRUDE.] You are here with--your mother, I understand. + +GERTRUDE. My brother. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Brother. Now do tell me whether you find your--your +little hotel comfortable. + +GERTRUDE. [Looking at him steadily.] We don't stay at one. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Apartments? + +GERTRUDE. Yes. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Do you know, dear Mrs. Thorpe, I have always had the very +strongest desire to live in lodgings in Venice? + +GERTRUDE. You should gratify it. Our quarters are rather humble; we are +in the Campo San Bartolomeo. + +ST. OLPHERTS. But how delightful! + +GERTRUDE. Why not come and see our rooms? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Bowing.] My dear young lady! [Producing a pencil and +writing upon his shirt-cuff.] Campo San Bartolomeo-- + +GERTRUDE. Five--four--nought--two + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Writing.] Five--four--nought--two. Tomorrow +afternoon? [She inclines her head.] Four o'clock? + +GERTRUDE. Yes; that would give the people ample time to tidy and clear +up after us. + +ST. OLPHERTS. After you--? + +GERTRUDE. After our departure. My brother and I leave early tomorrow +morning. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [After a brief pause, imperturbably.] A thousand thanks. +May I impose myself so far upon you as to ask you to tell your landlord +to expect me? [Taking up his hat and stick.] We are allowing this soup +to get cold. [Joining LUCAS.] Dear Lucas, you have something to say to +me--? + +LUCAS. [Opening the door.] Come into my room. [They go out. The two +women look at each other significantly.] + +AGNES. You're a splendid woman. + +GERTRUDE. That's rather a bad man, I think. Now, dear--[She places +AGNES on the settee, and sets the soup, &c., before her. AGNES eats.] + +GERTRUDE. [Watching her closely.] So you have succeeded in coming to +close quarters, as you expressed it, with him. + +AGNES. [Taciturnly.] Yes. + +GERTRUDE. His second visit here today, I gather. + +AGNES. Yes. + +GERTRUDE. His attitude towards you--his presence here under any +circumstances--it's all rather queer. + +AGNES. His code of behaviour is peculiarly his own. + +GERTRUDE. However, you are easier in your mind? + +AGNES. [Quietly, but with intensity.] I shall defeat him. I shall +defeat him. + +GERTRUDE. Defeat him? You will succeed in holding Mr. Cleeve, you mean? + +AGNES. Oh, if you put it in that way-- + +GERTRUDE. Oh, come, I remember all you told me this afternoon. [With +disdain.] So it has already arrived, then, at a simple struggle to hold +Mr. Cleeve? + +[There is a pause. AGNES, without answering, stretches out her hand to +the wine. Her hand shakes--she withdraws it helplessly.] + +GERTRUDE. What do you want--wine? + +[AGNES nods. GERTRUDE pours out wine and gives her the glass. AGNES +drains it eagerly and replaces it.] + +GERTRUDE. Agnes-- + +AGNES. Yes? + +GERTRUDE. You are dressed very beautifully. + +AGNES. Do you think so? + +GERTRUDE. Don't you know it? Who made you that gown? + +AGNES. Bardini. + +GERTRUDE. I shouldn't have credited the little woman with such +excellent ideas. + +AGNES. Oh, Lucas gave her the idea when he--when he-- + +GERTRUDE. When he ordered it? + +AGNES. Yes. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, the whole thing came as a surprise to you? + +AGNES. Er--quite. + +GERTRUDE. I noticed the box this afternoon when I called. + +AGNES. Mr. Cleeve wishes me to appear more like--more like-- + +GERTRUDE. An ordinary smart woman. [Contemptuously.] Well, you ought to +find no difficulty in managing that. You can make yourself very +charming, it appears. + +[AGNES again reaches out a hand towards the wine. GERTRUDE pours a very +little wine into the wine-glass and takes up the glass; AGNES holds out +her hand to receive it.] + +GERTRUDE. Do you mind my drinking from your glass? + +AGNES. [Staring at her.] No. + +[GERTRUDE empties the glass and then places it, in a marked way, on the +side of the table farthest from AGNES.] + +GERTRUDE. [With a little shudder.] Ugh! Ugh! [AGNES moves away from +GERTRUDE, to the end of the settee, her head bowed, her hands +clenched.] I have something to propose. Come home with me tomorrow. + +AGNES. [After a pause, raising her head.] Home--? + +GERTRUDE. Ketherick. The very spot for a woman who wants to shut out +things. Miles and miles of wild moorland! For company, purple heath and +moss-covered granite, in summer; in winter, the moor-fowl and the snow +glistening on top of the crags. Oh, and for open-air music, our little +church owns the sweetest little peal of bells--! [AGNES rises, +disturbed.] Ah, I can't promise you their silence! Indeed, I'm very +much afraid that on a still Sunday you can even hear the sound of the +organ quite a long distance off. I am the organist when I'm at home. +That's Ketherick. Will you come? [The distant tinkling of mandolin and +guitar is again heard.] + +AGNES. Listen to that. The mandolinisti! You talk of the sound of your +church organ, and I hear his music. + +GERTRUDE. His music? + +AGNES. The music he is fond of; the music that gives him the thoughts +that please him, soothe him. + +GERTRUDE. [Listening--humming the words of the air, contemptuously: +"Bell'amore deh! Porgi l'orecchio, ad un canto che parte del +cuore . . ."] Love-music! + +AGNES. [In a low voice, staring upon the ground.] Yes, love music. + +[The door leading from LUCAS'S room opens, and ST. OLPHERTS and LUCAS +are heard talking. GERTRUDE hastily goes out. KUCAS enters; the +boyishness of manner has left him--he is pale and excited.] + +AGNES. What is the matter? + +LUCAS. My wife is revealing quite a novel phase of character. + +AGNES. Your wife--? + +LUCAS. The submissive mood. It's right that you should be told, Agnes. +She is here, at the Danieli, with my brother Sandford. [ST. OLPHERTS +enters slowly.] Yes, positively! It appears that she has lent herself +to a scheme of Sandford's--[glancing at ST. OLPHERTS]--and of--and-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Of Sandford's. + +LUCAS. [To AGNES.] A plan of reconciliation. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] Tell +Sybil that the submissive mood comes too late, by a year or so! [He +paces to and fro. AGNES sits, with an expressionless face.] + +AGNES.[Quietly, to ST. OLPHERTS.] The "friends" you were expecting, +Duke? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Meekly.] Yes. [She smiles at him scornfully.] + +LUCAS. Agnes dear, you and I leave here early tomorrow. + +AGNES. Very well, Lucas. + +LUCAS. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] Duke, will you be the bearer of a note from +me to Sandford? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Certainly. + +LUCAS. [Going to the door of his room.] I'll write it at once. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Raising his voice.] You won't see Sandford, then, dear +Lucas, for a moment or two? + +LUCAS. No, no; pray excuse me. [He goes out. ST. OLPHERTS advances to +AGNES. The sound of the music dies away.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Slipping his coat off and throwing it upon the head of +the settee.] Upon my soul, I think you've routed us! + +AGNES. Yes. + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Sitting, breaking into a laugh.] Ha, ha! he, he, he! Sir +Sandford and Mrs. Cleeve will be so angry. Such a devil of a journey +for nothing! Ho! [Coughing.] Ho, ho, ho! + +AGNES. This was to be your grand coup. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I admit it--I have been keeping this in reserve. + +AGNES. I see. A further term of cat-and-dog life for Lucas and this +lady--but it would have served to dispose of me, you fondly imagined. +I see. + +ST. OLPHERTS. I knew your hold on him was weakening. [She looks at +him.] You knew it too. [She looks away.] He was beginning to find out +that a dowdy demagogue is not the cheeriest person to live with. I +repeat, you're a dooced clever woman, my dear. [She rises, with an +impatient shake of her body, and walks past him, he following her with +his eyes.] And a handsome one, into the bargain. + +AGNES. Tsch! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Tell me, when did you make up your mind to transform +yourself? + +AGNES. Suddenly, after our interview this afternoon; after what you +said-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh--! + +AGNES. [With a little shiver.] An impulse. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Impulse doesn't account for the possession of those +gorgeous trappings. + +AGNES. These rags? A surprise gift from Lucas, today. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Really, my dear, I believe I've helped to bring about my +own defeat. [Laughing softly.] Ho, ho, ho! How disgusted the Cleeve +family will be! Ha, ha! [Testily.] Come, why don't you smile--laugh? +You can afford to do so! Show your pretty white teeth! Laugh! + +AGNES. [Hysterically.] Ha, ha, ha! Ha! + +ST. OLPHERTS. That's better! [Pushing the cigarette-box towards him, +she takes a cigarette and places it between her lips. He also takes a +cigarette gaily. They smoke--she standing, with an elbow resting upon +the top of the stove, looking down upon him.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [As he lights his cigarette.] This isn't explosive, I +hope? No nitric and sulphuric acid, with glycerine--eh? [Eyeing her +wonderingly and admiringly.] By jove! Which is you--the shabby, +shapeless rebel who entertained me this afternoon or--[kissing the +tips of his fingers to her]--or that? + +AGNES. This--this. [Seating herself, slowly and thoughtfully, facing +the stove, her back turned to him.] My sex has found me out. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Ha! tsch! [Between his teeth.] Damn it, for your sake I +almost wish Lucas was a different sort of feller! + +AGNES. [Partly to herself, with intensity.] Nothing matters now--not +even that. He's mine. He would have died but for me. I gave him life. +He is my child, my husband, my lover, my bread, my daylight--all-- +everything. Mine! Mine! + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Rising and limping over to her.] Good luck, my girl. + +AGNES. Thanks! + +ST. OLPHERTS. I'm rather sorry for you. This sort of triumph is +short-lived, you know. + +AGNES. [Turning to him.] I know. But I shall fight for every moment +that prolongs it. This is my hour. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Your hour--? + +AGNES. There's only one hour in a woman's life. + +ST. OLPHERTS. One--? + +AGNES. One supreme hour. Her poor life is like the arch of a crescent; +so many years lead up to that hour, so many weary years decline from +it. No matter what she may strive for, there is a moment when +Circumstance taps her upon the shoulder and says "Woman, this hour is +the best that Earth has to spare you." It may come to her in calm or in +temper, lighted by a steady radiance or by the glitter of evil stars; +but however it comes, be it good or evil, it is her hour--let her +dwell upon every second of it! + +ST. OLPHERTS. And this little victory of yours--the possession of this +man; you think this is the best that Earth can spare you? [She nods +slowly and deliberately, with fixed eyes.] Dear me, how amusin' you +women are! And in your dowdy days you had ambitions? [She looks at him +suddenly.] They were of a queer, gunpowder-and-faggot sort--but they +were ambitions. + +AGNES. [Starting up.] Oh--! [Putting her hands to her brows.] Oh--! +[Facing him.] Yes, yes! You're right! Once, long ago, I hoped that my +hour would be very different from this. Ambitions! I have seen myself, +standing, humbly-clad, looking down upon a dense, swaying crowd--a +scarlet flag for my background. I have seen the responsive look upon +thousands of white, eager, hungry faces, and I've heard the great +hoarse shout of welcome as I have seized my flag and hurried down +amongst the people--to be given a place among their leaders! I! With +the leaders, the leaders! Yes, that is what I once hoped would be my +hour! [Her voice sinking.] But this is my hour. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Well, my dear, when it's over, you'll have the +satisfaction of counting the departing footsteps of a ruined man. + +AGNES. Ruined--! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Yes, there's great compensation in that--for women. + +AGNES. [Sitting.] Why do you suggest he'll be ruined through me? +[Uneasily.] At any rate, he'd ended his old career before we met. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Pardon me; it's not now too late for him to resume that +career. The threads are not quite broken yet. + +AGNES. Oh, the scandal in London-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Would be dispelled by this sham reconciliation with his +wife. + +AGNES. [Looking at him.] Sham--? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Why, of course. All we desired to arrange was that for +the future their household should be conducted strictly a la mode. + +AGNES. A la mode? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Behind the settee, looking down upon her.] Mr. Cleeve in +one quarter of the house, Mrs. Cleeve in another. + +AGNES. Oh, yes. + +ST. OLPHERTS. A proper aspect to the world, combined with freedom on +both sides. It's a more decorous system than the aggressive Free Union +you once advocated; and it's much in vogue at my end of town. + +AGNES. Your plan was a little more subtle than I gave you credit for. +This was to be your method of getting rid of me! + +ST. OLPHERTS. No, no. Don't you understand? With regard to yourself, we +could have arrived at a compromise. + +AGNES. A compromise? + +ST. OLPHERTS. It would have made us quite happy to see you placed upon +a--upon a somewhat different footing. + +AGNES. What kind of--footing? + +ST. OLPHERTS. The suburban villa, the little garden, a couple of +discreet servants--everything a la mode. + +[There is a brief pause. The she rises and walks across the room, +outwardly calm but twisting her hands.] + +AGNES. Well, you've had Mr. Cleeve's answer to that. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Yes. + +AGNES. Which finally disposes of the whole matter--disposes of it-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Completely. [Struck by an idea.] Unless you-- + +AGNES. [Turning to him.] Unless I-- + +ST. OLPHERTS. Unless you-- + +AGNES. [After a moment's pause.] What did Lucas say to you when you--? + +ST. OLPHERTS. He said he knew you'd never make that sacrifice for him. +[She pulls herself up rigidly.] So he declined to pain you by asking +you to do it. + +AGNES. [Crossing swiftly to the settee, and speaking straight into his +face.] That's a lie! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Keep your temper, my dear. + +AGNES. [Passionately.] His love may not last--it won't!--but at this +moment he loves me better than that! He wouldn't make a mere light +thing of me! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Wouldn't he? You try him! + +AGNES. What! + +ST. OLPHERTS. You put him to the test! + +AGNES. [With her hands to her brows.] Oh--! + +ST. OLPHERTS. No, no--don't! + +AGNES. [Faintly.] Why? + +ST. OLPHERTS. I like you. Damn him--you deserve to live your hour! + +[LUCAS enters with a letter in his hand. AGNES sits.] + +LUCAS. [Giving ST. OLPHERTS the letter.] Thanks. [St. OLPHERTS pockets +the letter and picks up his cloak, LUCAS assisting him.] + +AGNES. [Outwardly calm.] Oh--Lucas-- + +LUCAS. Yes? + +AGNES. The Duke has been--has been--telling me-- + +LUCAS. What, dear? + +AGNES. The sort of arrangement proposed for your going back to London. + +LUCAS. Oh, my brother's brilliant idea! + +AGNES. Acquiesced in by your wife. [ST. OLPHERTS strolls away from +them.] + +LUCAS. Certainly; as I anticipated, she has become intensely +dissatisfied with her position. + +AGNES. And it would be quite possible, it seems, for you to resume your +old career? + +LUCAS. Just barely possible--well, for the moment, quite possible. + +AGNES. Quite possible. + +LUCAS. I haven't, formally, made a sign to my political friends yet. +It's a task one leaves to the last. I shall do so now--at once. My +people have been busying themselves, it appears, in reporting that I +shall return to London directly my health is fully re-established. + +AGNES. In the hope--? Oh, yes. + +LUCAS. Hoping they'd be able to separate us before it was too--too +late. + +AGNES. Which hope they've now relinquished? + +LUCAS. Apparently. + +AGNES. They're prepared to accept a--a compromise, I hear? + +LUCAS. Ha!--yes. + +AGNES. A compromise in my favour? + +LUCAS. [Hesitatingly.] They suggest-- + +AGNES. Yes, yes, I know. [Looking at him searchingly.] After all, your +old career was--a success. You made your mark, as you were saying the +other day. You did make your mark. [He walks up and down restlessly, +abstractedly, her eyes following him.] You were generally spoken of, +accepted, as a Coming Man. The Coming Man, often, wasn't it? + +LUCAS. [With an impatient wave of the hand.] That doesn't matter! + +AGNES. And now you are giving it up--giving it all up. + +[He sits on the settee, resting his elbow on his knee, pushing his hand +through his hair.] + +LUCAS. But--but you believe I shall succeed equally well in this new +career of mine? + +AGNES. [Stonily.] There's the risk, you must remember. + +LUCAS. Obviously, there's the risk. Why do you say all this to me now? + +AGNES. Because now is the opportunity to--to go back. + +LUCAS. [Scornfully.] Opportunity--? + +AGNES. An excellent one. You're so strong and well now. + +LUCAS. Thanks to you. + +AGNES. [Staring before her.] Well--I did nurse you carefully, didn't +I? + +LUCAS. But I don't understand you. You are surely not proposing to--to +--break with me? + +AGNES. No--I--I--I was only thinking that you--you might see +something in this suggestion of a compromise. + +[LUCAS glances at ST. OLPHERTS, whose back is turned to them. ST. +OLPHERTS instinctively looks round, then goes and sits by the window.] + +LUCAS. [Looking at her searchingly.] Well, but--you--? + +AGNES. [With assumed indifference.] Oh, I-- + +LUCAS. You? + +AGNES. Lucas, don't--don't make me paramount. [He moves to the end of +the settee, showing by a look that he desires her to sit by him. After +a moment's hesitation she takes her place beside him.] + +LUCAS. [In an undertone.] I do make you paramount. I do. My dear girl, +under any circumstances you would still be everything to me--always. +[She nods with a vacant look.] There would have to be this pretence of +an establishment of mine--that would have to be faced; the whited +sepulchre, the mockery of dinners and receptions and so on. But it +would be to you I should fly for sympathy, encouragement, rest. + +AGNES. Even if you were ill again-- + +LUCAS. Even then, if it were practicable--if it could be--if it-- + +AGNES. [Looking him in the face.] Well--? + +LUCAS. [Avoiding her gaze.] Yes, dear? + +AGNES. What do you say, then, to asking the Duke to give you back that +letter to your brother? + +LUCAS. It wouldn't settle matters, simply destroying that letter. +Sandford begs me to go round to the Danieli tonight, to--to-- + +AGNES. To see him? [LUCAS nods.] And her? [He shrugs his shoulders.] At +what time? Was any time specified? + +LUCAS. Half-past nine. + +AGNES. I--I haven't my watch on. + +LUCAS. [Referring to his watch.] Nine twenty-five. + +AGNES. You can almost manage it--if you'd like to go. + +LUCAS. Oh, let them wait a few minutes for me; that won't hurt them. + +AGNES. [Dazed.] Let me see--I did fetch your hat and coat--[She rises +and walks mechanically, stumbling against a chair. LUCAS looks up, +alarmed; ST. OLPHERTS rises.] + +AGNES. [Replacing the chair.] It's all right; I didn't notice this. +[Bringing LUCAS'S hat and coat, and assisting him with the latter.] How +long will you be? + +LUCAS. Not more than half an hour. An hour at the outside. + +AGNES. [Arranging his neck handkerchief.] Keep this so. + +LUCAS. Er--if--if I--if we-- + +AGNES. The Duke is waiting. [LUCAS turns away, and joins ST. OLPHERTS.] + +LUCAS. [To him, in a low voice.] I am going back to the hotel with you. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, are you? [The door opens and FORTUNE enters, followed +by AMOS WINTERFIELD. FORTUNE retires.] + +AMOS. [To LUCAS, sternly.] Is my sister still here, may I ask? [LUCAS +looks to AGNES interrogatively. She inclines her head.] + +AMOS. I should like her to know that I am waiting for her. [AGNES goes +out.] + +LUCAS. [To AMOS.] Pray excuse me. + +[AMOS draws back. ST. OLPHERTS passes out. At the door, LUCAS pauses, +and bows slightly to AMOS, who returns his bow in the same fashion; +then LUCAS follows ST. OLPHERTS. GERTRUDE enters, wearing her hat and +mantle. AGNES follows; her movements are unsteady, and there is a wild +look in her eyes.] + +GERTRUDE. You've come to fetch me, Amos? [He assents by a nod.] + +AMOS. [To AGNES.] I'm sorry to learn from Dr. Kirke that you've been +ill. I hope you're better. + +AGNES. [Turning away, GERTRUDE watching her.] Thank you, I am quite +well. + +AMOS. [Gruffly.] Are you ready, Gertrude? + +GERTRUDE. No, dear, not yet. I want you to help me. + +AMOS. In what way? + +GERTRUDE. I want you to join me in persuading Mrs. Ebbsmith--my +friend, Mrs. Ebbsmith--to come to Ketherick with me. + +AMOS. My dear sister--! + +GERTRUDE. [Firmly.] Please, Amos! + +AGNES. Stop a moment! Mr. Winterfield, your sister doesn't in the least +understand how matters are with me. I am returning to England, but with +Mr. Cleeve. [Recklessly.] Oh, you'd hear of it eventually! He is +reconciled to his wife. + +GERTRUDE. Oh--! Then, surely, you--! + +AGNES. No. The reconciliation goes no further than mere outward +appearances. He relies upon me as much as ever. [Beating her hands +together passionately.] He can't spare me--can't spare me! + +AMOS. [In a low voice to GERTRUDE.] Are you satisfied? + +GERTRUDE. I suspected something of the kind. [Going to AGNES, gripping +her wrist tightly.] Pull yourself out of the mud! Get up out of the +mud! + +AGNES. I have no will to--no desire to! + +GERTRUDE. You mad thing! + +AGNES. [Releasing herself, facing GERTRUDE and AMOS.] You're only +breaking in upon my hour. + +GERTRUDE. Your hour--? + +AGNES. [Waving them away.] I ask you to go--to go! [GERTRUDE returns +to AMOS.] + +AMOS. My dear Gertrude, you see what our position is here. If Mrs. +Ebbsmith asks for our help it is our duty to give it. + +GERTRUDE. It is especially my duty, Amos. + +AMOS. And I should have thought it especially mine. However, Mrs. +Ebbsmith appears to firmly decline our help. And at this point, I +confess, I would rather you left it--you, at least. + +GERTRUDE. You would rather I left it--I, the virtuous, unsoiled woman! +Yes, I am a virtuous woman, Amos; and it strikes you as odd, I suppose, +my insisting upon friendship with her. But look here, both of you. I'll +tell you a secret. You never knew it, Amos my dear. I never allowed +anybody to suspect it-- + +AMOS. Never knew what? + +GERTRUDE. The sort of married life mine was. It didn't last long, but +it was dreadful, almost intolerable. + +AMOS. Gertrude! + +GERTRUDE. After the first few weeks--weeks, not months!--after the +first few weeks of it, my husband treated me as cruelly--[turning to +AGNES]--just as cruelly, I do believe, as your husband treated you. +[AMOS makes a movement, showing astonishment.] Wait! Now then! There +was another man--one I loved--one I couldn't help loving! I could +have found release with him, perhaps happiness of a kind. I resisted, +came through it. They're dead--the two are dead! And here I am, a +virtuous, reputable woman; saved by the blessed mercy of Heaven! There, +you are not surprised any longer, Amos! [Pointing to AGNES.] "My +friend, Mrs Ebbsmith!" [Bursting into tears.] Oh! Oh, if my little boy +had been spared to me, he should have grown up tender to women--tender +to women! He should, he should--! [She sits upon the settee, +weeping . . . There is a short silence.] + +AMOS. Mrs. Ebbsmith, when I came here tonight I was angry with Gertrude +--not altogether, I hope, for being in your company. But I was +certainly angry with her for visiting you without my knowledge. I think +I sometimes forget that she is eight-and-twenty, not eighteen. Well, +now I offer to delay our journey home for a few days, if you hold out +the faintest hope that her companionship is likely to aid you in any +way. + +[AGNES, standing motionless, makes no response. AMOS crosses to her, +and as he passes GERTRUDE, he lets his hand drop over her shoulder; she +clasps it, then rises and moves to a chair, where she sits, crying +silently.] + +AMOS. [By AGNES' side--in a low voice.] You heard what she said. Saved +by the mercy of Heaven. + +AGNES. Yes, but she can feel that. + +AMOS. You felt so once. + +AGNES. Once--? + +AMOS. You have, in years gone by, asked for help on your knees. + +AGNES. It never came. + +AMOS. Repeat your cry! + +AGNES. There would be no answer. + +AMOS. Repeat it! + +AGNES. [Turning upon him.] If miracles could happen! If "help", as you +term it, did come! Do you know what "help" would mean to me? + +AMOS. What--? + +AGNES. It would take the last crumb from me! + +AMOS. This man's--protection? + +AGNES. [Defiantly.] Yes + +AMOS. Oh, Mrs. Ebbsmith--! + +AGNES. [Pointing to the door.] Well, I've asked you both to leave me, +haven't I! [Pointing at GERTRUDE, who has risen.] The man she loves is +dead and gone! She can moralise--! [Sitting, beating upon the settee +with her hands.] Leave me! [AMOS joins GERTRUDE.] + +GERTRUDE. We'll go, Amos. [He takes from his pocket a small +leather-bound book; the cover is well-worn and shabby.] + +AMOS. [Writing upon the fly-leaf of the book with a pencil.] I am +writing our address here, Mrs. Ebbsmith. + +AGNES. [In a hard voice.] I already have it. [GERTRUDE glances at the +book over AMOS'S shoulder, and looks at him wonderingly.] + +AMOS. [Laying the book on the settee by AGNES' side.] You might forget +it. [She stares at the book, with knitted brows, for a moment, then +stretches out her hand and opens it.] + +AGNES. [Withdrawing her hand sharply.] No--I don't accept your gift. + +AMOS. The address of two friends is upon the fly-leaf. + +AGNES. I thank both of you; but you shall never be troubled again by +me. [Rising, pointing to the book.] Take that away! [Sitting facing the +stove, the door of which she opens, replenishing the fire--excitedly.] +Mr. Cleeve may be back soon; it would be disagreeable to you all to +meet again. [GERTRUDE gently pushes AMOS aside, and picking up the book +from the settee, places it upon the table.] + +GERTRUDE. [To AGNES, pointing to the book.] This frightens you. Simple +print and paper, so you pretend to regard it; but it frightens you. +[With a quick movement, AGNES twists her chair round and faces GERTRUDE +fiercely.] I called you a mad thing just now. A week ago I did think +you half-mad--a poor, ill-used creature, a visionary, a moral woman +living immorally; yet, in spite of all, a woman to be loved and pitied. +But now I'm beginning to think you're only frail--wanton. Oh, you're +not so mad as not to know you're wicked! [Tapping the book forcibly.] +And so this frightens you. + +AGNES. You're right! Wanton! That's what I've become! And I'm in my +right senses, as you say. I suppose I was mad once for a little time, +years ago. And do you know what drove me so? [Striking the book with +her fist.] It was that--that! + +GERTRUDE. That! + +AGNES. I'd trusted in it, clung to it, and it failed me. Never once did +it stop my ears to the sounds of a curse; when I was beaten it didn't +make the blows a whit lighter; it never healed my bruised flesh, my +bruised spirit! Yes, that drove me distracted for a while; but I'm sane +now--now it is you that are mad, mad to believe! You foolish people, +not to know [beating her breast and forehead]--that Hell or Heaven is +here and here! [Pointing to the book.] Take it! [GERTRUDE turns away +and joins AMOS, and they walk quickly to the door.] + +AGNES. [Frantically.] I'll not endure the sight of it--! +[As they reach the door, GERTRUDE looks back and sees AGNES hurl the +book into the fire. They go out. AGNES starts to her feet and stands +motionless for a moment, her head bent, her fingers twisted in her +hair. Then she raises her head; the expression of her face has changed +to a look of fright and horror. Uttering a loud cry, she hastens to the +stove, and, thrusting her hand into the fire, drags out the book. +GERTRUDE and AMOS re-enter quickly in alarm.] + +GERTRUDE. Agnes--! [They stand looking at AGNES, who is kneeling upon +the ground, clutching the charred book.] + + +END OF THE THIRD ACT + + + + +THE FOURTH ACT + + +[The scene is an apartment in the Campo San Bartolomeo. The walls are +of plaster; the ceiling is frescoed in cheap modern Italian fashion. At +the end of the room is a door leading to AGNES'S bedroom; to the left +is an exit onto a landing, while a nearer door, on the same side, +opens into another room. The furniture and the few objects attached to +the walls are characteristic of a moderate-priced Venetian lodging. +Placed about the room, however, are photographs in pretty fanes and +knick-knacks personal to GERTRUDE, and a travelling-trunk and bag are +also to be seen. The shutters of the two nearer windows are closed; a +broad stream of moonlight, coming through the further window, floods +the upper part of the room.] + +[HEPHZIBAH, a grey-haired north-country woman dressed as a lady's maid, +is collecting the knick-knacks and placing them in the travelling bag. +After a moment or two, GERTRUDE enters by the further door.] + +GERTRUDE. [At the partly closed door, speaking into the further room.] +I'll come back to you in a little while, Agnes. [Closing the door, and +addressing HEPHZIBAH.] How are you getting on, Heppy? + +HEPHZIBAH. A'reet, Miss Gerty. I'm puttin' together a' the sma' +knick-knacks, to lay them wi' the claes i' th' trunks. + +GERTRUDE. [Taking some photographs from the table and bringing them to +HEPHZIBAH.] We leave here at a quarter to eight in the morning; not a +minute later. + +HEPHZIBAH. Aye. Will there be much to pack for Mistress Cleeve? + +GERTRUDE. Nothing at all. Besides her hand-bag, she has only the one +box. + +HEPHZIBAH. [Pointing to the trunk.] Nay, nobbut that thing! + +GERTRUDE. Yes, nobbut that. I packed that for her at the Palazzo. + +HEPHZIBAH. Eh, it won't gi' us ower much trouble to maid Mistress +Cleeve when we get her hame. + +GERTRUDE. Heppy, we are not going to call--my friend--"Mrs Cleeve." + +HEPHZIBAH. Nay! What will thee call her? + +GERTRUDE. I'll tell you--by-and-bye. Remember, she must never, never +be reminded of the name. + +HEPHZIBAH. Aye, I'll be maist carefu'. Poor leddy! After the way she +treated that husband o' hers in Florence neet and day, neet and day! + +GERTRUDE. The world's full of unhappiness, Heppy. + +HEPHZIBAH. The world's full of husbands. I canna' bide them. They're +true enough when they're ailin'--but a lass can't keep her Jo always +sick. Hey, Miss Gerty! Do forgi'e your auld Heppy! + +GERTRUDE. For what? + +HEPHZIBAH. Why, your own man, so I've heered, ne'er had as much as a +bit headache till he caught his fever and died o't. + +GERTRUDE. No, I never knew Captain Thorpe to complain of an ache or a +pain. + +HEPHZIBAH. And he was a rare, bonny husband to thee, if a tales be +true. + +GERTRUDE. Yes, Heppy. [Listening, startled.] Who's this? + +HEPHZIBAH. [Going and looking.] Maister Amos. [AMOS enters briskly.] + +AMOS. [To GERTRUDE.] How is she? + +GERTRUDE. [Assisting him to remove his overcoat.] More as she used to +be--so still, so gentle. She's reading. + +AMOS. [Looking at her significantly.] Reading? + +GERTRUDE. Reading. [He sits, humming a tune, while HEPPY takes off his +shoes and gives him his slippers.] + +HEPHZIBAH. Eh, Maister Amos, it's good to see thee sae gladsome. + +AMOS. Home, Heppy, home! + +HEPHZIBAH. Aye, hame! + +AMOS. With our savings! + +HEPHZIBAH. With our savings! + +HEPHZIBAH. Thy savings--! + +AMOS. Tsch! Get on with your packing. + +[HEPHZIBAH goes out, carrying the travelling-bag and AMOS'S shoes. He +exchanges the coat he is wearing for a shabby little black jacket which +GERTRUDE brings him.] + +GERTRUDE. [Filling AMOS'S pipe.] Well, dear! Go on! + +AMOS. Well, I've seen them. + +GERTRUDE. Them-- + +AMOS. The Duke and Sir Sandford Cleeve. + +GERTRUDE. At the hotel. + +AMOS. I found them sitting together in the hall, smoking, listening to +some music. + +GERTRUDE. Quite contented with the arrangement they believed they had +brought about. + +AMOS. Apparently so. Especially the Baronet--a poor, cadaverous +creature. + +GERTRUDE. Where was Mr. Cleeve? + +AMOS. He had been there, had an interview with his wife, and departed. + +GERTRUDE. Then by this time he has discovered that Mrs. Ebbsmith has +left him? + +AMOS. I suppose so. + +GERTRUDE. Well, well! The Duke and the cadaverous Baronet? + +AMOS. Oh, I told them that I considered it my duty to let them know +that the position of affairs had suddenly become altered--[she puts +the pipe in his mouth, and strikes a match.]--that, in point of +fact, Mrs. Ebbsmith had ceased to be an element in their scheme for +re-establishing Mr. Cleeve's household. + +GERTRUDE. [Holding a light to his pipe.] Did they inquire as to her +movements? + +AMOS. The Duke did--guessed we had taken her. + +GERTRUDE. What did they say to that? + +AMOS. The Baronet asked me whether I was the chaplain of a Home for +[angrily]--ah! + +GERTRUDE. Brute! And then? + +AMOS. Then they suggested that I ought hardly to leave them to make the +necessary explanation to their relative, Mr. Lucas Cleeve. + +GERTRUDE. Yes--well? + +AMOS. I replied that I fervently hoped I should never set eyes on their +relative again. + +GERTRUDE [Gleefully.] Ha! + +AMOS. But that Mrs. Ebbsmith had left a letter behind her at the +Palazzo Arconati, addressed to that gentleman, which I presume +contained so full an explanation as he could desire. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, Amos--! + +AMOS. Eh? + +GERTRUDE. You're mistaken there, dear; there was no letter. + +AMOS. No letter--? + +GERTRUDE. Simply four shakily-written words. + +AMOS. Only four words! + +GERTRUDE. "My--hour-is-over." + +[HEPHZIBAH enters with a card on a little tray. GERTRUDE reads the card +and utters an exclamation.] + +GERTRUDE. [Taking the card and speaking under her breath.] Amos! [He +goes to her; they stare at the card together.] + +AMOS. [To HEPHZIBAH.] Certainly! [HEPHZIBAH goes out, then returns with +the DUKE OF ST. OLPHERTS, and retires. ST. OLPHERTS bows graciously to +GERTRUDE and more formally to AMOS.] + +AMOS. Pray, sit down. [ST. OLPHERTS seats himself on the settee.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, my dear sir!--If I may use such an expression in +your presence--here is the devil to pay! + +AMOS. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] You don't mind my pipe. [ST. OLPHERTS waves a +hand pleasantly.] And I don't mind your expression--[sitting by the +table]--the devil to pay? + +ST. OLPHERTS. This, I daresay well intentioned, interference of yours +has brought about some very unpleasant results. Mr. Cleeve returns to +the Palazzo Arconati and find that Mrs. Ebbsmith has flown. + +AMOS. That result, at least, was inevitable. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Whereupon he hurries back to the Danieli and denounces us +all for a set of conspirators. + +AMOS. Your Grace doesn't complain of the injustice of that charge? + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Smilingly.] No, no, I don't complain. But the brother-- +the wife! Just when they imagined they had bagged the truant--there's +the sting! + +GERTRUDE. Oh, then Mr. Cleeve now refuses to carry out his part of the +shameful arrangement? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Absolutely. [Rising, taking a chair, and placing it by +the settee.] Come into this, dear Mrs. Thorn--! + +AMOS. Thorpe. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Come into this! [Sitting again.] You understand the sort +of man we have to deal with in Mr. Cleeve. + +GERTRUDE. [Sitting.] A man who prizes a woman when he has lost her. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Precisely. + +GERTRUDE. Men don't relish, I suppose, being cast off by women. + +ST. OLPHERTS. It's an inversion of the picturesque; the male abandoned +is not a pathetic figure. At any rate, our poor Lucas is now raving +fidelity to Mrs. Ebbsmith. + +GERTRUDE. [Indignantly.] Ah--! + +ST. OLPHERTS. If you please, he cannot, will not, exist without her. +Reputation, fame, fortune are nothing weighed against--Mrs. Ebbsmith. +And we may go to perdition, so that he recovers--Mrs. Ebbsmith. + +AMOS. Well--to be plain--you're not asking us to sympathise with Mrs. +Cleeve and her brother-in-law over their defeat? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Certainly not. All I ask, Mr. Winterfield, is that you +will raise no obstacle to a meeting between Mr. Cleeve and--and-- + +GERTRUDE. No! + +[ST. OLPHERTS signifies assent; GERTRUDE makes a movement.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [To her.] Don't go. + +AMOS. The object of such a meeting? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Mrs. Cleeve desires to make a direct, personal appeal to +Mrs. Ebbsmith. + +GERTRUDE. Oh, what kind of woman can this Mrs. Cleeve be? + +ST. OLPHERTS. A woman of character, who sets herself to accomplish a +certain task-- + +GERTRUDE. Character! + +AMOS. Hush, Gerty! + +ST. OLPHERTS. And who gathers her skirts tightly around her and +tip-toes gently into the mire. + +AMOS. To put it clearly: in order to get her unfaithful husband back to +London, Mrs. Cleeve would deliberately employ this weak, unhappy woman +as a lure. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Perhaps Mrs. Cleeve is an unhappy woman. + +GERTRUDE. What work for a wife! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Wife--nonsense! She is only married to Cleeve. + +AMOS. [Walking up and down.] It is proposed that this meeting should +take place--when? + +ST. OLPHERTS. I have brought Sir Sandford and Mrs. Cleeve with me. +[Pointing towards the outer door.] They are-- + +AMOS. If I decline? + +ST. OLPHERTS. It's known you leave for Milan at a quarter to nine in +the morning; there might be some sort of foolish, inconvenient scene at +the station. + +AMOS. Surely your Grace--? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, no, I shall be in bed at that hour. I mean, between +the women, perhaps--and Mr. Cleeve. Come, come, sir, you can't abduct +Mrs. Ebbsmith--nor can we. Nor must you gag her. [AMOS appears angry +and perplexed.] Pray be reasonable. Let her speak out for herself-- +here, finally--and settle the business. Come, sir, come! + +AMOS. [Going to GERTRUDE and speaking in a low voice.] Ask her. +[GERTRUDE goes out.] Cleeve! Where is he while this poor creature's +body and soul are being played for? You have told him she is with us? + +ST. OLPHERTS. No, I haven't. + +AMOS. He must suspect it. + +ST. OLPHERTS. Well, candidly, Mr. Winterfield, Mr. Cleeve is just now +employed in looking for Mrs. Ebbsmith elsewhere. + +AMOS. Elsewhere? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Sir Sandford recognised that, in his brother's present +mood, the young man's presence might be prejudicial to the success of +these delicate negotiations. + +AMOS. So some lie has been told him, to keep him out of the way? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Now, Mr. Winterfield--! + +AMOS. Good heavens! Duke--forgive me for my roughness--you appear to +be fouling your hands, all of you, with some relish! + +ST. OLPHERTS. I must trouble you to address remarks of that nature to +Sir Sandford Cleeve. I am no longer a prime mover in the affair. I am +simply standing by. + +AMOS. But how can you "stand by"? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Confound it, sir, if you will trouble yourself to rescue +people, there is a man to be rescued here as well as a woman; a man, by +the way, who is a--a sort of relative of mine. + +AMOS. The woman first! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Not always. You can rescue this woman in a few weeks' +time; it can make no difference. + +AMOS. [Indignantly.] Ah--! + +ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, you are angry! + +AMOS. I beg your pardon. One word. I assure your Grace that I truly +believe this wretched woman is at a fatal crisis in her life. I believe +that if I lose her now there is every chance of her slipping back into +a misery and despair out of which it will be impossible to drag her. +Oh, I'll be perfectly open with you. At this moment we--my sister and +I--are not perfectly sure of her. Her affection for this man may still +induce her to sacrifice herself utterly for him; she is still in danger +of falling to the lowest depth a woman can attain. Come, Duke, don't +help these people. And don't "stand by!" Help me and my sister. For +God's sake! + +ST. OLPHERTS. My good Mr. Winterfield, believe me or not, I--I +positively like this woman. + +AMOS. [Gladly.] Ah! + +ST. OLPHERTS. She attracts me curiously. And if she wanted assistance-- + +AMOS. Doesn't she? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Money-- + +AMOS. No, no. + +ST. OLPHERTS. She should have it. But as for the rest--well-- + +AMOS. Well? + +ST. OLPHERTS. Well sir, you must understand me. It is a failing of +mine; I can't approach women--I never could--in the missionary +spirit. + +[GERTRUDE re-enters; the men turn to face her.] + +AMOS. [To GERTRUDE.] Will she--? + +GERTRUDE. Yes. [ST. OLPHERTS limps out of the room, bowing to GERTRUDE +as he passes.] Oh, Amos! + +AMOS. Are we to lose the poor soul after all, Gerty? + +GERTRUDE. I--I can't think so. Oh! but I'm afraid. + +[ST. OLPHERTS returns, and SIR SANDFORD CLEEVE enters with SYBIL +CLEEVE. SANDFORD is a long, lean, old-young man with a pinched face. +SYBIL is a stately, handsome young woman, beautifully gowned and +thickly veiled.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. Mrs Thorpe--Mr Winterfield. [SYBIL and SANDFORD bow +distantly to GERTRUDE and AMOS.] + +AMOS. [To SANDFORD and SYBIL, indicating the settee.] Will you--? +[SYBIL sits on the settee; SANDFORD takes the chair beside her.] +Gertrude--[GERTRUDE goes out.] + +SIR SANDFORD. [Pompously.] Mr Winterfield, I find myself engaged on a +peculiarly distasteful task. + +AMOS. I have no hope, Sir Sandford, that you will not have strength to +discharge it. + +SIR SANDFORD. We shall object to loftiness of attitude on your part, +sir. You would do well to reflect that we are seeking to restore a +young man to a useful and honourable career. + +AMOS. You are using very honourable means, Sir Sandford. + +SIR SANDFORD. I shall protest against any perversion of words, Mr. +Winterfield-- + +[The door of the further room opens, and GERTRUDE comes in, then AGNES. +The latter is in a rusty, ill-fitting, black, stuff, dress; her hair is +tightly drawn from her brows; her face is haggard, her eyes are red and +sunken. A strip of linen binds her right hand.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [Speaking into SYBIL'S ear.] The lean witch again! The +witch of the Iron Hall at St. Luke's. + +SYBIL. [In a whisper.] Is that the woman? + +ST. OLPHERTS. You see only one of 'em--there are two there. + +[SANDFORD rises as AGNES comes slowly forward accompanied by GERTRUDE. +AMOS joins GERTRUDE; and they go together into the adjoining room, +GERTRUDE giving AGNES an appealing look.] + +SIR SANDFORD. [To AGNES.] I--I am Mr. Lucas Cleeve's brother--[with a +motion of the hand towards SYBIL]--this is--this is-- + +[He swallows the rest of the announcement and retires to the back of +the room, where he stands before the stove. ST. OLPHERTS strolls away +and disappears.] + +SYBIL. [To AGNES, in a hard, dry, disdainful voice.] I beg that you +will sit down. [AGNES sits mechanically, with an expressionless face.] +I--I don't need to be told that this is a very--a very unwomanly +proceeding on my part. + +SIR SANDFORD. I can't regard it in that light, under the peculiar +circumstances. + +SYBIL. I'd rather you wouldn't interrupt me, Sandford. [To AGNES.] But +the peculiar circumstances, to borrow my brother-in-law's phrase, are +not such as to develop sweetness and modesty, I suppose. + +SIR SANDFORD. Again I say you wrong yourself there, Sybil-- + +SYBIL. [Impatiently.] Oh, please let me wrong myself, for a change. [To +AGNES.] When my husband left me, and I heard of his association with +you, I felt sure that his vanity would soon make an openly irregular +life intolerable to him. Vanity is the cause of a great deal of virtue +in men; the vainest are those who like to be thought respectable. + +SIR SANDFORD. Really, I must protest-- + +SYBIL. But Lady Cleeve--the mother--and the rest of the family have +not had the patience to wait for the fulfilment of my prophecy. And so +I have been forced to undertake this journey. + +SIR SANDFORD. I demur to the expression "forced", Sybil-- + +SYBIL. Cannot we be left alone? Surely--! [SANDFORD bows stiffly and +moves away, following ST. OLPHERTS.] However, there's this to be said +for them, poor people--whatever is done to save my husband's prospects +in life must be done now. It is no longer possible to play fast and +loose with friends and supporters--to say nothing of enemies. His +future now rests upon a matter of days--hours almost. [Rising and +walking about agitatedly.] That is why I am sent here--well, why I am +here. + +AGNES. [In a low, quavering voice.] What is it you are all asking me to +do now? + +SYBIL. We are asking you to continue to--to exert your influence over +him for a little while longer. + +AGNES. [Rising unsteadily.] Ah--! [She makes a movement to go, falters, +and irresolutely sits again.] My influence--mine! + +SYBIL. [With a stamp of the foot.] You wouldn't underrate your power if +you had seen him, heard him, about an hour ago--[mockingly] after he +had discovered his bereavement. + +AGNES. He will soon forget me. + +SYBIL. Yes--if you don't forsake him. + +AGNES. I am going to England, into Yorkshire; according to your +showing, that should draw him back. + +SYBIL. Oh, I've no doubt that we shall hear of him--in Yorkshire! +You'll find him dangling about your skirts--in Yorkshire! + +AGNES. And he will find that I am determined--strong. + +SYBIL. Ultimately he will tire, of course. But when? And what assurance +have we that he returns to us when he has wearied of pursuing you? +Besides, don't I tell you that we must make sure of him now? It's of no +use his begging us, in a month's time, to patch up home and reputation. +It must be now--and you can end our suspense. Come, hideous as it +sounds, this is not much to ask. + +AGNES. [Shrinking from her.] Oh--! + +SYBIL. Oh, don't regard me as the wife! That's an unnecessary +sentiment, I pledge you my word. It's a little late in the day, too, +for such considerations. So, come, help us! + +AGNES. I will not. + +SYBIL. He has an old mother-- + +AGNES. Poor woman! + +SYBIL. And remember, you took him away--! + +AGNES. I! + +SYBIL. Practically you did--with your tender nursing and sweet +compassion. Isn't it straining a point--to shirk bringing him back? + +AGNES. [Rising.] I did not take him from you. You--you sent him to me. + +SYBIL. Ho, yes! That tale has been dinned into your ears often enough, +I can quite believe. I sent him to you--my coldness, heartlessness, +selfishness sent him to you. The unsympathetic wife--eh? Yes, but you +didn't put yourself to the trouble of asking for my version of the +story before you mingled your woes with his. [AGNES faces her +suddenly.] You know him now. Have I been altogether to blame, do you +still think? Unsympathetic! Because I've so often had to tighten my +lips, and stare blankly over his shoulder, to stop myself crying out in +weariness of his vanity and pettiness? Cruel! Because, occasionally, +patience becomes exhausted at the mere contemplation of a man so +self-absorbed? Why, you married miserably, the Duke of St. Olpherts +tells us! Before you made yourself my husband's champion and protector, +why didn't you let your experience speak a word for me? [AGNES quickly +turns away and sits upon the settee, her hands to her brow.] However, I +didn't come here to revile you. [Standing by her.] They say that you're +a strange woman--not the sort of woman one generally finds doing such +things as you have done; a woman with odd ideas. I hear--oh, I'm +willing to believe it!--that there's good in you. [AGNES breaks into a +low peal of hysterical laughter.] + +AGNES. Who tells you--that? + +SYBIL. The Duke. + +AGNES. Ha, ha, ha! A character--from him! ha, ha, ha! + +SYBIL. [Her voice and manner softening.] Well, if there is pity in you, +help us to get my husband back to London, to his friends, to his old +ambitions. + +AGNES. Ha, ha, ha, ha! your husband! + +SYBIL. The word slips out. I swear to you that he and I can never be +more to each other than companion figures in a masquerade. The same +roof may cover us; but between two wings of a house, as you may know, +there often stretches a wide desert. I despise him; he hates me. +[Walking away, her voice breaking.] Only--I did love him once . . . I +don't want to see him utterly thrown away--wasted . . . I don't quite +want to see that . . . [AGNES rises and approaches SYBIL, fearfully.] + +AGNES. [In a whisper.] Lift your veil for a moment. [SYBIL raises her +veil.] Tears--tears--[with a deep groan]--Oh--! [SYBIL turns away.] I +--I'll do it . . . I'll go back to the Palazzo . . . at once . . . +[SYBIL draws herself up suddenly.] I've wronged you! Wronged you! O God! +O God! [She totters away and goes into her bedroom. For a moment or two +SYBIL stands still, a look of horror and repulsion upon her face. Then +she turns and goes towards the outer door.] + +SYBIL. [Calling.] Sandford! Sandford! + +[SIR SANDFORD CLEEVE and the DUKE OF ST. OLPHERTS enter.] + +SIR SANDFORD. [To SYBIL.] Well--? + +SYBIL. She is going back to the Palazzo. + +SIR SANDFORD. You mean that she consents to--? + +SYBIL. [Stamping her foot.] I mean that she will go back to the +Palazzo. [Sitting and leaning her head upon her hands.] Oh! oh! + +SIR SANDFORD. Need we wait any longer, then? + +SYBIL. These people--these people who are befriending her! Tell them. + +SIR SANDFORD. Really, it can hardly be necessary to consult-- + +SYBIL. [Fiercely.] I will have them told! I will have them told! +[SANDFORD goes to the door of the adjoining room and knocks, returning +to SYBIL as GERTRUDE and AMOS enter. SYBIL draws down her veil.] + +GERTRUDE. [Looking round.] Mrs. Ebbsmith--? Mrs. Ebbsmith--! + +SIR SANDFORD. Er--many matters have been discussed with Mrs. Ebbsmith. +Undoubtedly, she has, for the moment, considerable influence over my +brother. She has consented to exert it, to induce him to return at once +to London. + +AMOS. I think I understand you! [AGNES appears at the door of her room +dressed in bonnet and cloak.] + +GERTRUDE. Agnes--! [AGNES comes forward, stretches out her hand to +GERTRUDE, and throws herself upon the settee.] + +SYBIL. [To SANDFORD, clutching his arm.] Take me away. [They turn to +go.] + +GERTRUDE. [To SYBIL.] Mrs Cleeve--! [Looking down upon AGNES.] Mrs. +Cleeve, we--my brother and I--hoped to save this woman. She was worth +saving. You have utterly destroyed her. [SYBIL makes no answer, but +walks slowly away with SANDFORD, then stops and turns abruptly.] + +SYBIL. [With a gasp.] Oh--! No--I will not accept the services of this +wretched woman. I loathe myself for what I have done. [Coming to +AGNES.] Look up! Look at me! [Proudly--lifting her veil.] I decline +your help--I decline it. [To GERTRUDE and AMOS.] You hear me--you-- +and you? I unsay all that I've said to her. It's too degrading. I will +not have such an act upon my conscience. [To AGNES.] Understand me! If +you rejoin this man I shall consider it a fresh outrage upon me. I hope +you will keep with your friends. [GERTRUDE holds out her hand to SYBIL; +SYBIL touches it distantly.] + +AGNES. [Clutching at SYBIL'S skirts.] Forgive me! forgive--! + +SYBIL. [Retreating.] Ah, please--! [Turning and confronting SANDFORD.] +Tell your mother I have failed. I am not going back to England. + +[LUCAS enters quickly; he and SYBIL come face to face. They stand +looking at each other for a moment, then she sweeps past him and goes +out. SANDFORD follows her.] + +LUCAS. [Coming to AGNES.] Agnes--[To AGNES, in rapid, earnest +undertones.] They sent me to the railway station; my brother told me +you were likely to leave for Milan tonight. I ought to have guessed +sooner that you were in the hands of this meddling parson and his +sister. Why has my wife been here--? + +AGNES. [In a low voice, rocking herself gently to and fro.] You wife-- +your wife--! + +LUCAS. And the others? What scheme is afoot now? Why have you left me? +Why didn't you tell me outright that I was putting you to too severe a +test? You tempted me, you led me on, to propose that I should patch up +my life in that way. [She rises, with an expressionless face.] But it +has had one good result. I know now how much I depend on you. Oh, I +have had it all out with myself, pacing up and down that cursed railway +station. [Laying his hand upon her arm and speaking into her ear.] I +don't deceive myself any longer. Agnes, this is the great cause of the +unhappiness I've experienced of late years--I'm not fit for the fight +and press of life. I wear no armour; I am too horribly sensitive. My +skin bleeds at a touch; even flatter wounds me. Oh, the wretchedness of +it! But you can be strong--at your weakest, there is a certain +strength in you. With you, in time, I feel I shall grow stronger. Only +I must withdraw from the struggle for a while; you must take me out of +it and let me rest--recover breath, as it were. Come! Forgive me for +having treated you ungratefully, almost treacherously. Tomorrow we +shall begin our search for our new home. Agnes! + +AGNES. I have already found a home. + +LUCAS. Apart from me, you mean? + +AGNES. Apart from you. + +LUCAS. No, no. You'll not do that! + +AGNES. Lucas, this evening, two or three hours ago, you planned out the +life we were to lead in the future. We had done with "madness", if you +remember; henceforth we were to be "mere man and woman." + +LUCAS. You agreed-- + +AGNES. Then. But we hadn't looked at each other clearly then, as mere +man and woman. You, the man--what are you? You've confessed-- + +LUCAS. I lack strength; I shall gain it. + +AGNES. Never from me--never from me. For what am I? Untrue to myself, +as you are untrue to yourself; false to others, as you are false to +others; passionate, unstable, like yourself; like yourself, a coward. I +--I was to lead women! I was to show them, in your company, how laws-- +laws made and laws that are natural--may be set aside or slighted; how +men and woman may live independent and noble lives without rule, +guidance or sacrament. I was to be the example--the figure set up for +others to observe and imitate. But the figure was made of wax--it fell +awry at the first hot breath that touched it! You and I! What a +partnership it has been! How base, and gross, and wicked, almost from +the very beginning! We know each other now thoroughly--how base and +wicked it would remain! No, go your way, Lucas, and let me go mine. + +LUCAS. Where--where are you going? + +AGNES. To Ketherick--to think. [Wringing her hands.] Ah! I have to +think, too, now, of the woman I have wronged. + +LUCAS. Wronged? + +AGNES. Your wife; the woman I have wronged, who came here tonight, and +--spared me. Oh, go! + +LUCAS. Not like this, Agnes! not like this! + +AGNES. [Appealingly.] Gertrude! [LUCAS looks round--first at GERTRUDE +then at AMOS--and, with a hard smile upon his face, turns to go. +Suddenly AGNES touches his sleeve.] Lucas, when you have learnt to pray +again, I will remember you, every day of my life. + +LUCAS. [Staring at her.] Pray! . . . you! . . . + +[She inclines her head twice, slowly; without another word he walks +away and goes out. AGNES sinks upon the settee; AMOS and GERTRUDE +remain, stiffly and silently, in the attitude of people who are waiting +for the departure of a disagreeable person.] + +ST. OLPHERTS. [After watching LUCAS'S departure.] Now I wonder whether, +if he hurried to his wife at this moment, repentant, and begged her to +relent--I wonder whether--whether she would--whether--[looking at +AMOS and GERTRUDE, a little disconcerted]--I beg your pardon--You're +not interested? + +AMOS. Frankly, we are not. + +ST. OLPHERTS. No; other people's affairs are tedious. [Producing his +gloves.] Well! A week in Venice--and the weather has been delightful. +[Shaking hands with GERTRUDE, whose expression remains unchanged.] A +pleasant journey! [Going to AGNES, offering his hand.] Mrs. Ebbsmith--? +[She lifts her maimed hand.] Ah! An accident? [She nods wearily.] I'm +sorry . . . I . . . + +[He turns away and goes out, bowing to AMOS as he passes.] + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NOTORIOUS MRS. 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