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.