GERTRUDE. Don't you know it? Who made you that gown?

AGNES. Bardini.

GERTRUDE. I shouldn't have credited the little woman with such excellent ideas.

AGNES. Oh, Lucas gave her the idea when he--when he--

GERTRUDE. When he ordered it?

AGNES. Yes.

GERTRUDE. Oh, the whole thing came as a surprise to you?

AGNES. Er--quite.

GERTRUDE. I noticed the box this afternoon when I called.

AGNES. Mr. Cleeve wishes me to appear more like--more like--

GERTRUDE. An ordinary smart woman. [Contemptuously.] Well, you ought to find no difficulty in managing that. You can make yourself very charming, it appears.

[AGNES again reaches out a hand towards the wine. GERTRUDE pours a very little wine into the wine-gla.s.s and takes up the gla.s.s; AGNES holds out her hand to receive it.]

GERTRUDE. Do you mind my drinking from your gla.s.s?

AGNES. [Staring at her.] No.

[GERTRUDE empties the gla.s.s and then places it, in a marked way, on the side of the table farthest from AGNES.]

GERTRUDE. [With a little shudder.] Ugh! Ugh! [AGNES moves away from GERTRUDE, to the end of the settee, her head bowed, her hands clenched.] I have something to propose. Come home with me tomorrow.

AGNES. [After a pause, raising her head.] Home--?

GERTRUDE. Ketherick. The very spot for a woman who wants to shut out things. Miles and miles of wild moorland! For company, purple heath and moss-covered granite, in summer; in winter, the moor-fowl and the snow glistening on top of the crags. Oh, and for open-air music, our little church owns the sweetest little peal of bells--! [AGNES rises, disturbed.] Ah, I can't promise you their silence! Indeed, I'm very much afraid that on a still Sunday you can even hear the sound of the organ quite a long distance off. I am the organist when I'm at home.

That's Ketherick. Will you come? [The distant tinkling of mandolin and guitar is again heard.]

AGNES. Listen to that. The mandolinisti! You talk of the sound of your church organ, and I hear his music.

GERTRUDE. His music?

AGNES. The music he is fond of; the music that gives him the thoughts that please him, soothe him.

GERTRUDE. [Listening--humming the words of the air, contemptuously: "Bell'amore deh! Porgi l'orecchio, ad un canto che parte del cuore . . ."] Love-music!

AGNES. [In a low voice, staring upon the ground.] Yes, love music.

[The door leading from LUCAS'S room opens, and ST. OLPHERTS and LUCAS are heard talking. GERTRUDE hastily goes out. KUCAS enters; the boyishness of manner has left him--he is pale and excited.]

AGNES. What is the matter?

LUCAS. My wife is revealing quite a novel phase of character.

AGNES. Your wife--?

LUCAS. The submissive mood. It's right that you should be told, Agnes.

She is here, at the Danieli, with my brother Sandford. [ST. OLPHERTS enters slowly.] Yes, positively! It appears that she has lent herself to a scheme of Sandford's--[glancing at ST. OLPHERTS]--and of--and--

ST. OLPHERTS. Of Sandford's.

LUCAS. [To AGNES.] A plan of reconciliation. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] Tell Sybil that the submissive mood comes too late, by a year or so! [He paces to and fro. AGNES sits, with an expressionless face.]

AGNES.[Quietly, to ST. OLPHERTS.] The "friends" you were expecting, Duke?

ST. OLPHERTS. [Meekly.] Yes. [She smiles at him scornfully.]

LUCAS. Agnes dear, you and I leave here early tomorrow.

AGNES. Very well, Lucas.

LUCAS. [To ST. OLPHERTS.] Duke, will you be the bearer of a note from me to Sandford?

ST. OLPHERTS. Certainly.

LUCAS. [Going to the door of his room.] I'll write it at once.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Raising his voice.] You won't see Sandford, then, dear Lucas, for a moment or two?

LUCAS. No, no; pray excuse me. [He goes out. ST. OLPHERTS advances to AGNES. The sound of the music dies away.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [Slipping his coat off and throwing it upon the head of the settee.] Upon my soul, I think you've routed us!

AGNES. Yes.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Sitting, breaking into a laugh.] Ha, ha! he, he, he! Sir Sandford and Mrs. Cleeve will be so angry. Such a devil of a journey for nothing! Ho! [Coughing.] Ho, ho, ho!

AGNES. This was to be your grand coup.

ST. OLPHERTS. I admit it--I have been keeping this in reserve.

AGNES. I see. A further term of cat-and-dog life for Lucas and this lady--but it would have served to dispose of me, you fondly imagined.

I see.

ST. OLPHERTS. I knew your hold on him was weakening. [She looks at him.] You knew it too. [She looks away.] He was beginning to find out that a dowdy demagogue is not the cheeriest person to live with. I repeat, you're a dooced clever woman, my dear. [She rises, with an impatient shake of her body, and walks past him, he following her with his eyes.] And a handsome one, into the bargain.

AGNES. Tsch!

ST. OLPHERTS. Tell me, when did you make up your mind to transform yourself?