The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith | Page 2

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