Gertrude.  My brother.

St. Olpherts.  Brother.  Now do tell me whether you find your—­your little hotel comfortable.

Gertrude. [Looking at him steadily.] We don’t stay at one.

St. Olpherts.  Apartments?

Gertrude.  Yes.

St. Olpherts.  Do you know, dear Mrs. Thorpe, I have always had the very strongest desire to live in lodgings in Venice?

Gertrude.  You should gratify it.  Our quarters are rather humble; we are in the Campo San Bartolomeo.

St. Olpherts.  But how delightful!

Gertrude.  Why not come and see our rooms?

St. Olpherts. [Bowing.] My dear young lady! [Producing a pencil and writing upon his shirt-cuff.] Campo San Bartolomeo—­

Gertrude.  Five—­four—­nought—­two

St. Olpherts. [Writing.] Five—­four—­nought—­two.  Tomorrow afternoon? [She inclines her head.] Four o’clock?

Gertrude.  Yes; that would give the people ample time to tidy and clear up after us.

St. Olpherts.  After you—?

Gertrude.  After our departure.  My brother and I leave early tomorrow morning.

St. Olpherts. [After a brief pause, imperturbably.] A thousand thanks.  May I impose myself so far upon you as to ask you to tell your landlord to expect me? [Taking up his hat and stick.] We are allowing this soup to get cold. [Joining Lucas.] Dear Lucas, you have something to say to me—?

Lucas. [Opening the door.] Come into my room. [They go out.  The two women look at each other significantly.]

Agnes.  You’re a splendid woman.

Gertrude.  That’s rather a bad man, I think.  Now, dear—­[She places
Agnes on the settee, and sets the soup, &c., before her.  Agnes eats.]

Gertrude. [Watching her closely.] So you have succeeded in coming to close quarters, as you expressed it, with him.

Agnes. [Taciturnly.] Yes.

Gertrude.  His second visit here today, I gather.

Agnes.  Yes.

Gertrude.  His attitude towards you—­his presence here under any circumstances—­it’s all rather queer.

Agnes.  His code of behaviour is peculiarly his own.

Gertrude.  However, you are easier in your mind?

Agnes. [Quietly, but with intensity.] I shall defeat him.  I shall defeat him.

Gertrude.  Defeat him?  You will succeed in holding Mr. Cleeve, you mean?

Agnes.  Oh, if you put it in that way—­

Gertrude.  Oh, come, I remember all you told me this afternoon. [With disdain.] So it has already arrived, then, at a simple struggle to hold Mr. Cleeve?

[There is a pause.  Agnes, without answering, stretches out her hand to the wine.  Her hand shakes—­she withdraws it helplessly.]