[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!