Hephzibah.  Aye, hame!

Amos.  With our savings!

Hephzibah.  With our savings!

Hephzibah.  Thy savings—!

Amos.  Tsch!  Get on with your packing.

[Hephzibah goes out, carrying the travelling-bag and AMOS’S shoes.  He exchanges the coat he is wearing for a shabby little black jacket which Gertrude brings him.]

Gertrude. [Filling AMOS’S pipe.] Well, dear!  Go on!

Amos.  Well, I’ve seen them.

Gertrude.  Them—­

Amos.  The Duke and Sir Sandford Cleeve.

Gertrude.  At the hotel.

Amos.  I found them sitting together in the hall, smoking, listening to some music.

Gertrude.  Quite contented with the arrangement they believed they had brought about.

Amos.  Apparently so.  Especially the Baronet—­a poor, cadaverous creature.

Gertrude.  Where was Mr. Cleeve?

Amos.  He had been there, had an interview with his wife, and departed.

Gertrude.  Then by this time he has discovered that Mrs. Ebbsmith has left him?

Amos.  I suppose so.

Gertrude.  Well, well!  The Duke and the cadaverous Baronet?

Amos.  Oh, I told them that I considered it my duty to let them know that the position of affairs had suddenly become altered—­[she puts the pipe in his mouth, and strikes a match.]—­that, in point of fact, Mrs. Ebbsmith had ceased to be an element in their scheme for re-establishing Mr. Cleeve’s household.

Gertrude. [Holding a light to his pipe.] Did they inquire as to her movements?

Amos.  The Duke did—­guessed we had taken her.

Gertrude.  What did they say to that?

Amos.  The Baronet asked me whether I was the chaplain of a Home for [angrily]—­ah!

Gertrude.  Brute!  And then?

Amos.  Then they suggested that I ought hardly to leave them to make the necessary explanation to their relative, Mr. Lucas Cleeve.

Gertrude.  Yes—­well?

Amos.  I replied that I fervently hoped I should never set eyes on their relative again.

Gertrude [Gleefully.] Ha!

Amos.  But that Mrs. Ebbsmith had left a letter behind her at the Palazzo Arconati, addressed to that gentleman, which I presume contained so full an explanation as he could desire.

Gertrude.  Oh, Amos—!

Amos.  Eh?

Gertrude.  You’re mistaken there, dear; there was no letter.

Amos.  No letter—?

Gertrude.  Simply four shakily-written words.

Amos.  Only four words!

Gertrude.  “My—­hour-is-over.”

[Hephzibah enters with a card on a little tray.  Gertrude reads the card and utters an exclamation.]