Gertrude.  Look here!  I’ll get you to tell him the truth.

Kirke.  The truth—­oh?

Gertrude.  I called here this afternoon, unknown to Amos, to bid her good-bye.  Then I pottered about, rather miserably, spending money.  Coming out of Naya’s, the photographer’s, I tumbled over Mr. Cleeve, who had been looking for you, and he begged me to come round here again after I had done my shopping.

Kirke.  I understand.

Gertrude.  Doctor, have you ever seen Amos look dreadfully stern and knit about the brows—­like a bishop who is put out?

Kirke.  No.

Gertrude.  Then you will.

Kirke.  Well, this is a pretty task—! [He goes out.  Gertrude comes to
Agnes.  Lucas rises.]

Gertrude.  I am going down into the kitchen to see what these people can do in the way of strong soup.

Lucas.  You are exceedingly good to us, Mrs. Thorpe.  I can’t tell you how ashamed I am of my bearishness this afternoon.

Gertrude. [Arranging the shawl about Agnes’s shoulders.] Hush, please!

Agnes.  Are you looking at my shawl?  Lucas brought it in with him, as a reward for my coming out of that stupid faint.  I—­I have always refused to be—­spoilt in this way, but now—­now—­

Lucas. [Breaking in deliberately.] Pretty work upon it, is there not,
Mrs. Thorpe?

Gertrude.  Charming. [Going to the door, which Lucas opens for her.]
Thank you.[She passes out.  Agnes rises.]

Lucas.  Oh, my dear girl—!

Agnes. [Throwing her cigarette under the stove.] I’m quite myself again, Lucas dear.  Watch me—­look! [Walking firmly.]

Lucas.  No trembling?

Agnes.  Not a flutter. [Watching her open hand.] My hand is absolutely steady. [He takes her hand and kisses it upon the palm.] Ah!—­

Lucas. [Looking at her hand.] No, it is shaking.

Agnes.  Yes, when you—­when you—­oh, Lucas!—­[She sinks into a chair, turning her back upon him, and covering her face with her hands; her shoulders heaving.]

Lucas. [Going to her.] Agnes dear!

Agnes. [Taking out her handkerchief.] Let me—­let me—­

Lucas. [Bending over her.] I’ve never seen you—­

Agnes.  No, I’ve never been a crying woman.  But some great change has befallen me, I believe.  What is it?  That swoon—­it wasn’t mere faintness, giddiness; it was this change coming over me!

Lucas.  You are not unhappy?

Agnes. [Wiping her eyes.] No, I—­I don’t think I am.  Isn’t that strange?

Lucas.  My dearest, I’m happy to hear you say that, for you’ve made me very happy.

Agnes.  Because I—­

Lucas.  Because you love me—­naturally, that’s one great reason.