The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith | Page 2

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 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