GERTRUDE. [Wistfully.] Very well.
AGNES. [Facing her.] Oh, can't you understand that it can only be--
disturbing to both of us for an impulsive, emotional creature like
yourself to keep up acquaintanceship with a woman who takes life as I
do? We'll drop each other, leave each other alone. [She walks away, and
stands leaning upon the stove, her back towards GERTRUDE.]
GERTRUDE. [Replacing the card in her purse.] As you please. Picture me,
sometimes, in that big, hollow shell of a rectory at Ketherick,
strolling about my poor dead little chap's empty room.
AGNES. [Under her breath.] Oh!
GERTRUDE. [Turning to go.] God bless you.
AGNES. Gertrude! [With altered manner.] You--you have the trick of
making me lonely also. [Going to GERTRUDE, taking her hands and
fondling them.] I'm tired of talking to the walls! And your blood is
warm to me! Shall I tell you, or not--or not?
GERTRUDE. Do tell me.
AGNES. There is a man here, in Venice, who is torturing me--flaying me
alive.
GERTRUDE. Torturing you?
AGNES. He came here about a week ago; he is trying to separate us.
GERTRUDE. You and Mr. Cleeve?
AGNES. Yes.
GERTRUDE. You are afraid he will succeed?
AGNES. Succeed! What nonsense you talk!
GERTRUDE. What upsets you, then?
AGNES. After all, it's difficult to explain--the feeling is so
indefinite.
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