Amos.  My dear sister—!

Gertrude. [Firmly.] Please, Amos!

Agnes.  Stop a moment!  Mr. Winterfield, your sister doesn’t in the least understand how matters are with me.  I am returning to England, but with Mr. Cleeve. [Recklessly.] Oh, you’d hear of it eventually!  He is reconciled to his wife.

Gertrude.  Oh—!  Then, surely, you—!

Agnes.  No.  The reconciliation goes no further than mere outward appearances.  He relies upon me as much as ever. [Beating her hands together passionately.] He can’t spare me—­can’t spare me!

Amos. [In a low voice to Gertrude.] Are you satisfied?

Gertrude.  I suspected something of the kind. [Going to Agnes, gripping her wrist tightly.] Pull yourself out of the mud!  Get up out of the mud!

Agnes.  I have no will to—­no desire to!

Gertrude.  You mad thing!

Agnes. [Releasing herself, facing Gertrude and Amos.] You’re only breaking in upon my hour.

Gertrude.  Your hour—?

Agnes. [Waving them away.] I ask you to go—­to go! [Gertrude returns to Amos.]

Amos.  My dear Gertrude, you see what our position is here.  If Mrs.
Ebbsmith asks for our help it is our duty to give it.

Gertrude.  It is especially my duty, Amos.

Amos.  And I should have thought it especially mine.  However, Mrs. Ebbsmith appears to firmly decline our help.  And at this point, I confess, I would rather you left it—­you, at least.

Gertrude.  You would rather I left it—­I, the virtuous, unsoiled woman!  Yes, I am a virtuous woman, Amos; and it strikes you as odd, I suppose, my insisting upon friendship with her.  But look here, both of you.  I’ll tell you a secret.  You never knew it, Amos my dear.  I never allowed anybody to suspect it—­

Amos.  Never knew what?

Gertrude.  The sort of married life mine was.  It didn’t last long, but it was dreadful, almost intolerable.

Amos.  Gertrude!

Gertrude.  After the first few weeks—­weeks, not months!—­after the first few weeks of it, my husband treated me as cruelly—­[turning to Agnes]—­just as cruelly, I do believe, as your husband treated you. [Amos makes a movement, showing astonishment.] Wait!  Now then!  There was another man—­one I loved—­one I couldn’t help loving!  I could have found release with him, perhaps happiness of a kind.  I resisted, came through it.  They’re dead—­the two are dead!  And here I am, a virtuous, reputable woman; saved by the blessed mercy of Heaven!  There, you are not surprised any longer, Amos! [Pointing to Agnes.] “My friend, Mrs Ebbsmith!” [Bursting into tears.] Oh!  Oh, if my little boy had been spared to me, he should have grown up tender to women—­tender to women!  He should, he should—! [She sits upon the settee, weeping . . .  There is a short silence.]