The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith | Page 3

shakes his
head.] The Duke of St Olpherts.
KIRKE. [Taking snuff.] Ah! I suppose you're in with a lot of swells
now, Brodrick.
SIR GEORGE. No, no; you don't understand me. The Duke is this
young fellow's uncle by marriage. His Grace married a sister of Lady
Cleeve's --of Cleeve's mother, you know.
KIRKE. Oh! This looks as if the family are trying to put a finger in the
pie.
SIR GEORGE. The Duke may be here by mere chance. Still, as you
say, it does look--[Lowering his voice as KIRKE eyes an opening door.]
Who's that?
KIRKE. The woman.
[AGNES enters. She moves firmly but noiselessly--a placid woman,
with a sweet, low voice. Her dress is plain to the verge of coarseness;
her face, which has little colour, is, at the first glance almost wholly

unattractive.]
AGNES. [Looking from one to the other.] I thought you would send for
me, perhaps. [To SIR GEORGE.] What do you say about him?
KIRKE. One moment. [Pointing to the balcony.] Mrs. Thorpe--
AGNES. Excuse me. [She goes to the window and opens it.]
GERTRUDE. Oh, Mrs Cleeve! [Entering the room.] Am I in the way?
AGNES. You are never that, my dear. Run along to my room; I'll call
you in a minute or two. [GERTRUDE nods, and goes to the door.]
Take off you hat and sit with me for a while.
GERTRUDE. I'll stay for a bit, but this hat doesn't take off. [She goes
out]
AGNES. [To SIR GEORGE and KIRKE.] Yes?
SIR GEORGE. We are glad to be able to give a most favourable report.
I may say that Mr Cleeve has never appeared to be in better health.
AGNES. [Drawing a deep breath.] He will be very much cheered by
what you say.
SIR GEORGE. [Bowing stiffly.] I'm glad--
AGNES. His illness left him with a morbid, irrational impression that
he would never be his former self again.
SIR GEORGE. A nervous man recovering from a scare. I've helped
remove that impression I believe.
AGNES. Thank you. We have a troublesome, perhaps a hard time
before us; we both need all our health and spirits. [Turning her head,
listening.] Lucas?
[LUCAS enters the room. He is a handsome, intellectual-looking young

man of about eight-and-twenty.]
LUCAS. [To AGNES, excitedly.] Have you heard what they say of
me?
AGNES. [Smiling.] Yes.
LUCAS. How good of you, Sir George, to break up your little holiday
for the sake of an anxious, fidgety fellow. [To Agnes.] Isn't it?
AGNES. Sir George has rendered us a great service.
LUCAS. [Going to KIRKE, brightly.] Yes, and proved how ungrateful
I've been to you, doctor.
KIRKE. Don't apologise. People who don't know when they're well are
the mainstay of my profession. [Offering snuff-box.] Here--[LUCAS
takes a pinch of snuff, laughingly.]
AGNES. [In a low voice to SIR GEORGE.] He has been terribly
hipped at times. [Taking up the vase of flowers from the table.] Your
visit will have made him another man. [She goes to a table, puts down
the vase upon the tray, and commences to cut and arrange the fresh
flowers she finds there.]
LUCAS. [Seeing that AGNES is out of hearing.] Excuse me,
Kirke--just for one moment. [To SIR GEORGE.] Sir George--[KIRKE
joins AGNES.] You still go frequently to Great Cumberland Place?
SIR GEORGE. Your mother's gout has been rather stubborn lately.
LUCAS. Very likely she and my brother Sandford will get to hear of
your visit to me here; in that case you'll be questioned pretty closely,
naturally.
SIR GEORGE. My position is certainly a little delicate.
LUCAS. Oh you may be perfectly open with my people as to my
present mode of life. Only--[He motions SIR GEORGE to be seated;

they sit facing each other.] Only I want you hear me declare again
plainly [looking towards AGNES] that but for the care and devotion of
that good woman over there, but for the solace of that woman's
companionship, I should have been dead months ago--I should have
died raving in my awful bedroom on the ground floor of that foul
Roman hotel. Malarial fever, of course! Doctors don't admit--do
they?--that it's possible for strong men to die of miserable marriages.
And yet I was dying in Rome, I truly believe, from my bitter, crushing
disappointment, from the consciousness of my wretched,
irretrievable--[FORTUNE enters, carrying LUCAS' hat, gloves,
overcoat, and silk wrap, and upon a salver, a bottle of medicine and a
glass.]
LUCAS. [Sharply.] Qu'y a-t-il, Fortune?
FORTUNE. Sir, you have an appointment.
LUCAS. [Rising.] At the Danieli at eleven. Is it so late? [FORTUNE
places the things upon the table. LUCAS puts the wrap around his
throat; AGNES goes to him and arranges it for him solicitously.]
SIR GEORGE. [Rising.] I have to meet Lady Brodrick at the Piazzetta.
Let me