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 husba