nd, 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