The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith Part 27

SIR SANDFORD. We shall object to loftiness of att.i.tude on your part, sir. You would do well to reflect that we are seeking to restore a young man to a useful and honourable career.

AMOS. You are using very honourable means, Sir Sandford.

SIR SANDFORD. I shall protest against any perversion of words, Mr.

Winterfield--

[The door of the further room opens, and GERTRUDE comes in, then AGNES.

The latter is in a rusty, ill-fitting, black, stuff, dress; her hair is tightly drawn from her brows; her face is haggard, her eyes are red and sunken. A strip of linen binds her right hand.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [Speaking into SYBIL'S ear.] The lean witch again! The witch of the Iron Hall at St. Luke's.

SYBIL. [In a whisper.] Is that the woman?

ST. OLPHERTS. You see only one of 'em--there are two there.

[SANDFORD rises as AGNES comes slowly forward accompanied by GERTRUDE.

AMOS joins GERTRUDE; and they go together into the adjoining room, GERTRUDE giving AGNES an appealing look.]

SIR SANDFORD. [To AGNES.] I--I am Mr. Lucas Cleeve's brother--[with a motion of the hand towards SYBIL]--this is--this is--

[He swallows the rest of the announcement and retires to the back of the room, where he stands before the stove. ST. OLPHERTS strolls away and disappears.]

SYBIL. [To AGNES, in a hard, dry, disdainful voice.] I beg that you will sit down. [AGNES sits mechanically, with an expressionless face.]

I--I don't need to be told that this is a very--a very unwomanly proceeding on my part.

SIR SANDFORD. I can't regard it in that light, under the peculiar circ.u.mstances.

SYBIL. I'd rather you wouldn't interrupt me, Sandford. [To AGNES.] But the peculiar circ.u.mstances, to borrow my brother-in-law's phrase, are not such as to develop sweetness and modesty, I suppose.

SIR SANDFORD. Again I say you wrong yourself there, Sybil--

SYBIL. [Impatiently.] Oh, please let me wrong myself, for a change. [To AGNES.] When my husband left me, and I heard of his a.s.sociation with you, I felt sure that his vanity would soon make an openly irregular life intolerable to him. Vanity is the cause of a great deal of virtue in men; the vainest are those who like to be thought respectable.

SIR SANDFORD. Really, I must protest--

SYBIL. But Lady Cleeve--the mother--and the rest of the family have not had the patience to wait for the fulfilment of my prophecy. And so I have been forced to undertake this journey.

SIR SANDFORD. I demur to the expression "forced", Sybil--

SYBIL. Cannot we be left alone? Surely--! [SANDFORD bows stiffly and moves away, following ST. OLPHERTS.] However, there's this to be said for them, poor people--whatever is done to save my husband's prospects in life must be done now. It is no longer possible to play fast and loose with friends and supporters--to say nothing of enemies. His future now rests upon a matter of days--hours almost. [Rising and walking about agitatedly.] That is why I am sent here--well, why I am here.

AGNES. [In a low, quavering voice.] What is it you are all asking me to do now?

SYBIL. We are asking you to continue to--to exert your influence over him for a little while longer.

AGNES. [Rising unsteadily.] Ah--! [She makes a movement to go, falters, and irresolutely sits again.] My influence--mine!

SYBIL. [With a stamp of the foot.] You wouldn't underrate your power if you had seen him, heard him, about an hour ago--[mockingly] after he had discovered his bereavement.

AGNES. He will soon forget me.

SYBIL. Yes--if you don't forsake him.

AGNES. I am going to England, into Yorks.h.i.+re; according to your showing, that should draw him back.

SYBIL. Oh, I've no doubt that we shall hear of him--in Yorks.h.i.+re!

You'll find him dangling about your skirts--in Yorks.h.i.+re!

AGNES. And he will find that I am determined--strong.

SYBIL. Ultimately he will tire, of course. But when? And what a.s.surance have we that he returns to us when he has wearied of pursuing you?

Besides, don't I tell you that we must make sure of him now? It's of no use his begging us, in a month's time, to patch up home and reputation.

It must be now--and you can end our suspense. Come, hideous as it sounds, this is not much to ask.

AGNES. [Shrinking from her.] Oh--!

SYBIL. Oh, don't regard me as the wife! That's an unnecessary sentiment, I pledge you my word. It's a little late in the day, too, for such considerations. So, come, help us!

AGNES. I will not.

SYBIL. He has an old mother--

AGNES. Poor woman!

SYBIL. And remember, you took him away--!

AGNES. I!

SYBIL. Practically you did--with your tender nursing and sweet compa.s.sion. Isn't it straining a point--to s.h.i.+rk bringing him back?

AGNES. [Rising.] I did not take him from you. You--you sent him to me.

SYBIL. Ho, yes! That tale has been dinned into your ears often enough, I can quite believe. I sent him to you--my coldness, heartlessness, selfishness sent him to you. The unsympathetic wife--eh? Yes, but you didn't put yourself to the trouble of asking for my version of the story before you mingled your woes with his. [AGNES faces her suddenly.] You know him now. Have I been altogether to blame, do you still think? Unsympathetic! Because I've so often had to tighten my lips, and stare blankly over his shoulder, to stop myself crying out in weariness of his vanity and pettiness? Cruel! Because, occasionally, patience becomes exhausted at the mere contemplation of a man so self-absorbed? Why, you married miserably, the Duke of St. Olpherts tells us! Before you made yourself my husband's champion and protector, why didn't you let your experience speak a word for me? [AGNES quickly turns away and sits upon the settee, her hands to her brow.] However, I didn't come here to revile you. [Standing by her.] They say that you're a strange woman--not the sort of woman one generally finds doing such things as you have done; a woman with odd ideas. I hear--oh, I'm willing to believe it!--that there's good in you. [AGNES breaks into a low peal of hysterical laughter.]

AGNES. Who tells you--that?

SYBIL. The Duke.

AGNES. Ha, ha, ha! A character--from him! ha, ha, ha!

SYBIL. [Her voice and manner softening.] Well, if there is pity in you, help us to get my husband back to London, to his friends, to his old ambitions.

AGNES. Ha, ha, ha, ha! your husband!

SYBIL. The word slips out. I swear to you that he and I can never be more to each other than companion figures in a masquerade. The same roof may cover us; but between two wings of a house, as you may know, there often stretches a wide desert. I despise him; he hates me.

[Walking away, her voice breaking.] Only--I did love him once . . . I don't want to see him utterly thrown away--wasted . . . I don't quite want to see that . . . [AGNES rises and approaches SYBIL, fearfully.]

AGNES. [In a whisper.] Lift your veil for a moment. [SYBIL raises her veil.] Tears--tears--[with a deep groan]--Oh--! [SYBIL turns away.] I --I'll do it . . . I'll go back to the Palazzo . . . at once . . .

[SYBIL draws herself up suddenly.] I've wronged you! Wronged you! O G.o.d!