]
AGNES. [Looking from one to the other.] I thought you would send for
me, perhaps. [To SIR GEORGE.] What do you say about him?
KIRKE. One moment. [Pointing to the balcony.] Mrs. Thorpe--
AGNES. Excuse me. [She goes to the window and opens it.]
GERTRUDE. Oh, Mrs Cleeve! [Entering the room.] Am I in the way?
AGNES. You are never that, my dear. Run along to my room; I'll call you
in a minute or two. [GERTRUDE nods, and goes to the door.] Take off you
hat and sit with me for a while.
GERTRUDE. I'll stay for a bit, but this hat doesn't take off. [She goes
out]
AGNES. [To SIR GEORGE and KIRKE.] Yes?
SIR GEORGE. We are glad to be able to give a most favourable report. I
may say that Mr Cleeve has never appeared to be in better health.
AGNES. [Drawing a deep breath.] He will be very much cheered by what
you say.
SIR GEORGE. [Bowing stiffly.] I'm glad--
AGNES. His illness left him with a morbid, irrational impression that
he would never be his former self again.
SIR GEORGE. A nervous man recovering from a scare. I've helped remove
that impression I believe.
AGNES. Thank you. We have a troublesome, perhaps a hard time before us;
we both need all our health and spirits. [Turning her head, listening.]
Lucas?
[LUCAS enters the room. He is a handsome, intellectual-looking young
man of about eight-and-twenty.
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