[Hephzibah, a grey-haired north-country woman dressed as a lady’s maid, is collecting the knick-knacks and placing them in the travelling bag.  After a moment or two, Gertrude enters by the further door.]

Gertrude. [At the partly closed door, speaking into the further room.] I’ll come back to you in a little while, Agnes. [Closing the door, and addressing Hephzibah.] How are you getting on, Heppy?

Hephzibah.  A’reet, Miss Gerty.  I’m puttin’ together a’ the sma’ knick-knacks, to lay them wi’ the claes i’ th’ trunks.

Gertrude. [Taking some photographs from the table and bringing them to Hephzibah.] We leave here at a quarter to eight in the morning; not a minute later.

Hephzibah.  Aye.  Will there be much to pack for Mistress Cleeve?

Gertrude.  Nothing at all.  Besides her hand-bag, she has only the one box.

Hephzibah. [Pointing to the trunk.] Nay, nobbut that thing!

Gertrude.  Yes, nobbut that.  I packed that for her at the Palazzo.

Hephzibah.  Eh, it won’t gi’ us ower much trouble to maid Mistress Cleeve when we get her hame.

Gertrude.  Heppy, we are not going to call—­my friend—­“Mrs Cleeve.”

Hephzibah.  Nay!  What will thee call her?

Gertrude.  I’ll tell you—­by-and-bye.  Remember, she must never, never be reminded of the name.

Hephzibah.  Aye, I’ll be maist carefu’.  Poor leddy!  After the way she treated that husband o’ hers in Florence neet and day, neet and day!

Gertrude.  The world’s full of unhappiness, Heppy.

Hephzibah.  The world’s full of husbands.  I canna’ bide them.  They’re true enough when they’re ailin’—­but a lass can’t keep her Jo always sick.  Hey, Miss Gerty!  Do forgi’e your auld Heppy!

Gertrude.  For what?

Hephzibah.  Why, your own man, so I’ve heered, ne’er had as much as a bit headache till he caught his fever and died o’t.

Gertrude.  No, I never knew Captain Thorpe to complain of an ache or a pain.

Hephzibah.  And he was a rare, bonny husband to thee, if a tales be true.

Gertrude.  Yes, Heppy. [Listening, startled.] Who’s this?

Hephzibah. [Going and looking.] Maister Amos. [Amos enters briskly.]

Amos. [To Gertrude.] How is she?

Gertrude. [Assisting him to remove his overcoat.] More as she used to be—­so still, so gentle.  She’s reading.

Amos. [Looking at her significantly.] Reading?

Gertrude.  Reading. [He sits, humming a tune, while Heppy takes off his shoes and gives him his slippers.]

Hephzibah.  Eh, Maister Amos, it’s good to see thee sae gladsome.

Amos.  Home, Heppy, home!