Then she stands by the
window, her back towards GERTRUDE.]
AGNES. No, they evidently know Mr. Cleeve.
GERTRUDE. Your husband never calls you by that pet-name of yours. Why
is it you haven't told me you're a daughter of Admiral Steyning's?
AGNES. Mrs Thorpe--
GERTRUDE. [Warmly.] Oh, I must say what I mean! I have often pulled
myself up short in my gossips with you, conscious of a sort of wall
between us. [AGNES comes slowly from the window.] Somehow, I feel now
that you haven't in the least made a friend of me. I'm hurt. St's
stupid of me; I can't help it.
AGNES. [After a moment's pause.] I am not the lady these people were
speaking of yesterday.
GERTRUDE. Not--?
AGNES. Mr. Cleeve is no longer with his wife; he has left her.
GERTRUDE. Left--his wife!
AGNES. Like yourself, I am a widow. I don't know whether you've ever
heard my name--Ebbsmith. [GERTRUDE stares at her blankly.] I beg your
pardon sincerely. I never meant to conceal my true position; such a
course is opposed to every true principle of mind. But I grew so
attached to you in Florence and--well, it was contemptibly weak; I'll
never do such a thing again. [She goes back to the table and commences
to refill the vase with the fresh flowers.]
GERTRUDE. When you say that Mr. Cleeve has left his wife, I suppose you
mean to tell me that you have taken her place?
AGNES.
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