Chapter 7

GERTRUDE. [To SYBIL.] Mrs Cleeve--! [Looking down upon AGNES.] Mrs. Cleeve, we--my brother and I--hoped to save this woman. She was worth saving. You have utterly destroyed her. [SYBIL makes no answer, but walks slowly away with SANDFORD, then stops and turns abruptly.]

SYBIL. [With a gasp.] Oh--! No--I will not accept the services of this wretched woman. I loathe myself for what I have done. [Coming to AGNES.] Look up! Look at me! [Proudly--lifting her veil.] I decline your help--I decline it. [To GERTRUDE and AMOS.] You hear me--you-- and you? I unsay all that I've said to her. It's too degrading. I will not have such an act upon my conscience. [To AGNES.] Understand me! If you rejoin this man I shall consider it a fresh outrage upon me. I hope you will keep with your friends. [GERTRUDE holds out her hand to SYBIL; SYBIL touches it distantly.]

AGNES. [Clutching at SYBIL'S skirts.] Forgive me! forgive--!

SYBIL. [Retreating.] Ah, please--! [Turning and confronting SANDFORD.] Tell your mother I have failed. I am not going back to England.

[LUCAS enters quickly; he and SYBIL come face to face. They stand looking at each other for a moment, then she sweeps past him and goes out. SANDFORD follows her.]

LUCAS. [Coming to AGNES.] Agnes--[To AGNES, in rapid, earnest undertones.] They sent me to the railway station; my brother told me you were likely to leave for Milan tonight. I ought to have guessed sooner that you were in the hands of this meddling parson and his sister. Why has my wife been here--?

AGNES. [In a low voice, rocking herself gently to and fro.] You wife-- your wife--!

LUCAS. And the others? What scheme is afoot now? Why have you left me? Why didn't you tell me outright that I was putting you to too severe a test? You tempted me, you led me on, to propose that I should patch up my life in that way. [She rises, with an expressionless face.] But it has had one good result. I know now how much I depend on you. Oh, I have had it all out with myself, pacing up and down that cursed railway station. [Laying his hand upon her arm and speaking into her ear.] I don't deceive myself any longer. Agnes, this is the great cause of the unhappiness I've experienced of late years--I'm not fit for the fight and press of life. I wear no armour; I am too horribly sensitive. My skin bleeds at a touch; even flatter wounds me. Oh, the wretchedness of it! But you can be strong--at your weakest, there is a certain strength in you. With you, in time, I feel I shall grow stronger. Only I must withdraw from the struggle for a while; you must take me out of it and let me rest--recover breath, as it were. Come! Forgive me for having treated you ungratefully, almost treacherously. Tomorrow we shall begin our search for our new home. Agnes!

AGNES. I have already found a home.

LUCAS. Apart from me, you mean?

AGNES. Apart from you.

LUCAS. No, no. You'll not do that!

AGNES. Lucas, this evening, two or three hours ago, you planned out the life we were to lead in the future. We had done with "madness", if you remember; henceforth we were to be "mere man and woman."

LUCAS. You agreed--

AGNES. Then. But we hadn't looked at each other clearly then, as mere man and woman. You, the man--what are you? You've confessed--

LUCAS. I lack strength; I shall gain it.

AGNES. Never from me--never from me. For what am I? Untrue to myself, as you are untrue to yourself; false to others, as you are false to others; passionate, unstable, like yourself; like yourself, a coward. I --I was to lead women! I was to show them, in your company, how laws-- laws made and laws that are natural--may be set aside or slighted; how men and woman may live independent and noble lives without rule, guidance or sacrament. I was to be the example--the figure set up for others to observe and imitate. But the figure was made of wax--it fell awry at the first hot breath that touched it! You and I! What a partnership it has been! How base, and gross, and wicked, almost from the very beginning! We know each other now thoroughly--how base and wicked it would remain! No, go your way, Lucas, and let me go mine.

LUCAS. Where--where are you going?

AGNES. To Ketherick--to think. [Wringing her hands.] Ah! I have to think, too, now, of the woman I have wronged.

LUCAS. Wronged?

AGNES. Your wife; the woman I have wronged, who came here tonight, and --spared me. Oh, go!

LUCAS. Not like this, Agnes! not like this!

AGNES. [Appealingly.] Gertrude! [LUCAS looks round--first at GERTRUDE then at AMOS--and, with a hard smile upon his face, turns to go. Suddenly AGNES touches his sleeve.] Lucas, when you have learnt to pray again, I will remember you, every day of my life.

LUCAS. [Staring at her.] Pray! . . . you! . . .

[She inclines her head twice, slowly; without another word he walks away and goes out. AGNES sinks upon the settee; AMOS and GERTRUDE remain, stiffly and silently, in the attitude of people who are waiting for the departure of a disagreeable person.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [After watching LUCAS'S departure.] Now I wonder whether, if he hurried to his wife at this moment, repentant, and begged her to relent--I wonder whether--whether she would--whether--[looking at AMOS and GERTRUDE, a little disconcerted]--I beg your pardon--You're not interested?

AMOS. Frankly, we are not.

ST. OLPHERTS. No; other people's affairs are tedious. [Producing his gloves.] Well! A week in Venice--and the weather has been delightful. [Shaking hands with GERTRUDE, whose expression remains unchanged.] A pleasant journey! [Going to AGNES, offering his hand.] Mrs. Ebbsmith--? [She lifts her maimed hand.] Ah! An accident? [She nods wearily.] I'm sorry . . . I . . .

[He turns away and goes out, bowing to AMOS as he passes.]